


Making Strides

by Delo_No17



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Language, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 16:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 62,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delo_No17/pseuds/Delo_No17
Summary: In which an engineer at Stark Industries builds Bucky a new arm and they gradually fall in love.(Set after Endgame)(Early chapters reformatted)





	1. A Fight in a Bodega

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this fic for literal years, but I have to massively change it every time a new movie comes out lol. I don't know why I'm finally starting to publish.  
Thank you for reading, and feedback and comments are very much appreciated!

God damn it.

All Bucky wanted was to buy a chocolate bar and eat it before it had time to melt, but nothing could ever be easy. He was waiting in line in a bodega and a guy farther up was making a real ass of himself. Bucky clenched his fists but held his temper. In spite of the August heat, he was in a hoodie and a cap, trying his best to stay unnoticed. A fight was all he needed and he counted three cameras in the room. That would definitely make the news.

**International Terrorist Turned Avenger, James Barnes, Punches Some Asshole in a Bodega! More on this story at 11**

“Oh god!” the jerk groaned to the woman in front of him. “You know, legally, if he’s buying lottery tickets, you can go ahead of him. We don’t have to wait.”

“He looks like he’s almost done,” she replied quietly, shoulders slightly hunched.

_It’s none of your business, Buck._

“Finally!” the guy barked as the man in front left with his lottery tickets.

“Hello, how’s your day going?” The woman at the front of the line was now pointedly addressing the lady at the counter, ignoring the man behind her, who still hadn’t really stopped talking, already ranting about how long she was taking. The cashier looked at her and then at the jerk, nodding uncomfortably.

“God, take your fucking time, Christ!” A little voice in the back of Bucky’s head reminded him that Steve would definitely have intervened by now, but Bucky wasn’t Steve. He never had been and he needed to stay out of it.

“Yes, just the pop, thank you,” The lady behind the counter smiled and rang her up.

“Pop? Where the fuck are you from, the south? Is that why it’s taking you an hour to buy a couple sodas?”

She didn’t acknowledge him, just paid quickly.

“Thank you! I hope your day gets better!” The woman said, and the cashier smiled warmly at her, as she turned to leave.

“Fucking finally!” He turned his attention to the lady behind the counter. “But wait, let me guess, you don’t speak English…”

The other woman rounded on him. “You don’t have to be so rude.”

_Oh no._

“What did you say to me, bitch?”

“You heard me. Just buy your shit. You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

Of course. Bucky should have known that there was no shortage of Steve-like punks out there, willing to pick fights they won’t win against people who won’t learn. He sighed. He was definitely going to end up involved in this.

“None of your business! You fucking done?”

“You know what? No. I’m not. Apologize to the lady.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The woman turned to square with the other customer, planting her feet and narrowing her eyes, and Bucky got his first solid look at her through the crowd. She was tall, maybe almost six feet, with long, dark hair pulled into a braid and olive skin, and she was dressed like she worked in a garage, with grease-stained jeans and a dingy hoodie over a tank top.

Pretty, he thought, in passing.

The man, who for all her height towered over her, laughed at her for a second and then, without hesitation and before Bucky had time to respond, punched her, knocking her to the floor. One of the handles tore off of her bag and her drinks rolled away. Bucky stepped toward them, through the crowd, the rest of which was backing away. She had already scrambled back to her feet.

“You’re fucking pathetic!” She spat the words at him and he reared back to hit her again. Bucky caught his arm this time and put him into an easy sleeper hold. He was out in a matter of seconds, and the woman took a moment to glare at him before bending to retrieve her drinks.

“Hey, you alright?” Bucky looked quickly back and forth from the woman, to the unconscious man, to the cashier, who was cowering behind the register.

“Yeah, sorry, I just…” she put her drinks back into what was left of the bag, bracing it against her side to keep everything from falling back out. She smiled back at him and then recognition dawned across her face and her eyes grew wide.

“Sergeant Barnes! Sorry! I… shit!” She fumbled with her bottles, but managed to hold onto them.

“Shhh.”

He looked around to the other customers, who had all stepped out of dodge. The cashier held up her hands in surrender.

“Keep candy!”

“No! I’m not tryin’ to…”

“Please!”

He sighed, putting a five onto the counter and pocketing the chocolate bar, knowing it would melt, before picking up the unconscious man. He threw him casually over his shoulder and headed for the door, with the woman who had picked the fight (well, no, she really hadn’t) on his heels.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to… thank you for helping me. Where are you taking him?”

“There’s a police station a coupla’ blocks from here.”

“Right, of course.”

She followed him there and he just carried the man right through the front doors of the precinct, setting him down on a bench near the counter.

“Ay, what’s this?”

The officer behind the counter craned to see the unconscious man.

“He punched the lady so I put him out. He should wake up soon, but I’m pretty sure he’s on something. Very aggressive—agitated.”

“And, uh, who’re you?”

“James Buchanan Barnes. I work…”

“Sir! Yes sir, I’m sorry, sir. Um… thank you, sir.”

The man saluted him. It made Bucky’s skin crawl.

“No problem.”

“You, lady. You alright? You wanna file charges? Maybe we can have someone check you out?”

Bucky looked at her and she blinked at the cop. “Um… not necessary, thank you.”

“Right. Well… have a nice day, then. Thank you again, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir.”

“Ay, any friend of Captain America is a friend of New York, sir.”

Bucky nodded uncomfortably and turned to leave. The woman followed him. They walked a couple of blocks together before he turned to face her.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t step in sooner. Is, uh... is your face okay?” Her cheek was bright red where she had been hit and he could tell it would bruise.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, it’s seen worse.” She laughed, cradling her cheek for a second. “Besides, that’s what I get for antagonizing him.”

“Well, the way he was acting, if it hadn’t been you, it woulda been someone else.”

“Point.”

“So, um… where’re you headed? I can walk you, if you’re worried about running into any more trouble.”

She grinned. “I’m not, but I suspect we’re headed in the same direction. Avenger Tower?”

He blinked at her. “Yeah. I’m sorry, do you work there?”

“I do!” She shifted her bag and offered him a hand, cold from holding her drinks. “Lydia Russell. R&D for Stark Industries.”

He shook it.

“Bucky. Um… Sam Wilson’s entourage.”

She laughed. “No, you’re not, but okay. It’s an honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes. Sam says only good things.”

She let go of his hand, sweeping a few errant strands of hair out of her eyes, which he suddenly noticed were a very dark blue-ish something. Pretty.

“Bucky, please, and I… don’t believe that for a second. How do you know Sam?”

“I do a lot of maintenance on his suit.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to say, and gestured ahead, that they should resume walking. She started toward the tower and he followed her, paying mild attention to the way she held the torn bag and the way little wisps of her hair caught in the breeze and her slightly uneven gait. As they approached the building, he ran ahead and used his badge to open the door, holding it for her. She thanked him and they proceeded to the elevator. He used his badge again, hitting the 92nd floor.

“Where ya headed?”

“76, please.”

He pressed the button and they stood in uncomfortable silence, as the carriage ascended. The elevator dinged when they reached her floor and she stepped out, turning around and reaching back through the door to shake his hand, dropping her drinks.

“Shit!”

She dropped to the floor, grabbing one before it could roll away and reaching for the other. He beat her to it and extended a hand to help her up. She took it, standing and taking the other bottle from him.

“Sorry! Sorry.”

He smiled at her—he couldn’t help it. “It’s fine. You sure you’re alright?”

“Hm? Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m kind of a mess, I mean, in general, but this…” she gestured with one bottle to the bruise blossoming on her cheek, “it’s all good.”

He stepped back into the elevator, still grinning. “If you say so. Um… take care of yourself?”

“You too! I mean, I’m sure you can. Eh… have a nice day!”

“You too.”

The elevator doors closed and he sighed, leaning his weight back against the wall, and prodding the mushy chocolate bar in his pocket. Oh well.


	2. Good Things Can Be Made Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you speak Xhosa and my use of it in here is bad, I'm sorry. I'm relying on Google Translate for "Wakandan," but I would love feedback from someone who knows better.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was months later when Shuri popped up uninvited on his monitor while he was typing, and he jumped back out of his chair, reaching for a knife.

He had a slightly overactive startle response.

“Bucky? Calm down!” She laughed.

“Shuri?” He deflated. “Shit! Don’t do that.”

She choked back another laugh. “I’m sorry, I got excited. Are you okay?”

He stood his chair back up, climbing into it. “You’re such a jerk. I’m fine.”

“I am sorry. You just looked so intense.” Her smile cracked again. “How have you been?”

“Good. Keeping busy. So, what’s so important?”

“I want to make some alterations to the design of your arm!”

“You keep doing this. It’s fine. It works great.”

“Designs can always be improved, and this improvement is one that I am particularly excited about.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have been talking to an engineer in your building who has experience working with Asgardian technology and she has some ideas that could be groundbreaking for us.”

“I still say don’t fix what isn’t broken.”

“You’re such an old man. Good things can be made better, my friend. Just talk to Doctor Russsell, and see what you think.”

His attention snapped to the screen.

“Doctor Russell?”

“Yes! Do you know her?”

“Hm? Uh, no. We met once, but it was a while ago.”

Someone walked up behind Shuri, barely visible in the edge of the frame.

“Hlukana, u-Okoye ulapha.”

“Mxelele ukuba ndiza kuba lapho.” Shuri turned back toward him “I have to go. Make an appointment with her, you will not regret it!”

“You win. I’ll make…”

“I have to go. Have her call me!”

The window closed and Bucky sighed. “Hey, Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you get me an appointment with Doctor Lydia Russell?”

“When would you like it?”

“Whenever she has time.”

“How’s 3:30 PM today sound?”

“Um… what time is it now?”

“11:41 AM.”

“Uh, yeah. 3:30’s fine. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

* * *

  
As 3:30 crept on him, Bucky didn’t know why he was nervous. He told himself that it was the prospect of changes to the arm, but truthfully, that didn’t bother him. He took the elevator down to 76 and looked around at the familiar lab, which seemed uninhabited, except for some loud typing coming from behind a wall on his left. He followed the sound and found her sitting at a computer, typing furiously, with music he didn’t recognize blaring from her headphones. Every flat inch of the room seemed to be covered with books, piles of paper, sticky notes, or little pieces of machinery.

“Doctor Russell?”

She didn’t hear him.

He tapped her shoulder gently and she jumped, whipping around to face him and pulling her headphones down around her neck.

“Sergeant Barnes, you’re early!”

“Bucky. And no, I’m not.”

She spun back to look at the clock on her computer. “Fuck.” She paused her music, laughing. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Please have a seat! Um…” She started to gesture to a chair against the wall, near her desk, then realized it was holding a box of hardware. “Sorry, let me just…” She moved to get up and was yanked back by the cord on her headset. "Fuck. Sorry." She pulled the headphones off, setting them down and walking over to move the box to the floor, pushing it under her desk with her foot. “Sorry, please sit. Let’s talk about your arm!”

“Uh, yeah.”

He sat, pulling his sleeve up to his elbow to expose the smooth, black plates.

“Jeez, Shuri’s work is beautiful. May I?” She was reaching for his hand.

“Yeah, go for it.”

She scooted toward him and bent her desk lamp between them, cradling his hand between hers and sliding a plate back and forth experimentally, which sort of tickled. He tried not to tense up but she was _literally_ holding his hand, and nobody had done that since...

“What’s your grip like, with the palm and fingertips?”

She didn’t look at him when she spoke, rather pulling an eye loupe out of her pocket and examining the textures etched into the metal. She pinched one fingertip, gently.

“Not bad. The microtexture helps.”

“Mh.” She casually grabbed a plate near his thumb, pulling it off and bringing it closer to the light.

“Hey!”

She looked up at him and the loupe fell out of her eye, rolling to the floor. “Sorry! I’m sorry, did that hurt?”

“No. Just… they, uhm, don’t usually come off that easily.”

“Unless you know how to pull.” She grinned, turning the plate over in her fingers, examining the underside. He picked up her loupe.

“Do you need this?”

“Hm? Oh, thank you.” She pinched it back into her eye and continued examining the plate. “Everything else good? Grip strength?”

“Yeah, no problems.”

“Shuri says you’re happy with it.”

“I am.”

“Well, you’ll be even happier, when we finish.” She slid the plate smoothly back into his hand and popped the loupe back into her pocket—it had left a faint pink ring around her eye—and smiled warmly up at him. He thought it might have been the first time she had really made eye contact since he had gotten there.

“You know what? I believe you.”

“Okay, so, the basic plan…” she turned away from him again, tapping her computer for a moment and a hologram of his arm popped up on her desk. She enlarged it with her hands. “Here’s your current arm. Beautiful, does it’s job. Probably a little heavy, am I right?”  
He shrugged. “The old one was made of steel, so by comparison…”

“Steel? Jesus. Well, we can make it stronger and eliminate more than three quarters of the remaining mass.”

“Three quarters?”

“Yeah, problem?”

“No, just… how’s it work?”

Her face lit up and he found himself smiling back at her.

“Thank you for asking, because it’s cool as fuck. Okay, so are you familiar with the Asgardian Destroyer?”

“No.”

She blinked at him. “Really?”

He shrugged. “You asked.”

“Well, it was mostly rhetorical, I thought everyone knew. No worries, um…”

She turned back to her computer and tap-tap-tapped and the hologram of his arm was replaced with what looked to him like some kind of heavy-metal Iron Man suit.

“Meet the Destroyer. He’s fifteen feet tall and runs on some insane magic bullshit from space.”

He huffed a laugh. “Is that the scientific term?”

She laughed. “We had to coin some new terms, actually. We call it Runefield Modelling. It’s… the coolest shit I have ever seen, and I say that as someone who has had the absolute honor to work with Wakandan engineers. It’s phenomenal. See, if you peel away the panels…” she dragged her fingers through the hologram’s chest and the metallic panels melted away, “he’s hollow inside! They’re not the top layer of a machine, they ARE the machine, and they float on a forcefield. Because they don’t interlock like yours…” she typed something into her computer and Bucky watched the Destroyer rearrange its panels, so its back became its front.

“Holy cow.”

“Right? Retroactive positioning! And it can’t just turn around. The panels can be arranged into almost any configuration. The possibilities are almost limitless. Also, oh! I can’t believe I forgot.” She typed on her computer and spun around just in time to see a hole open up in the Destroyer’s face and a beam of orange light shoot out. “Plasma cannon!”

He laughed. “You wanna make my arm out of this stuff?”

“If you’re into it, yeah. We can still make it out of vibranium, so you won’t lose any hardness. Less weight, more power. It’s kind of a win-win? But it’s all experimental, you know, so obviously take your time. I can get you a packet on…”

He took a deep breath. “No, let’s do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes! Fuck yeah.” She wiggled happily in her chair. “Okay, um… so all I need from you is… Shuri sent me the model specs, so I shouldn’t… can I see the point of attachment?”

“My shoulder?”

“Yeah. I just need to see how everything’s connected. I mean, we don’t have to do it today, we could…” He pulled off his shirt. “Oh! Or we could… right, um… come with me, please.”

She stared at him for another second, slightly pinker than she had been before, and got up. He followed her out of the office and into an equally cluttered lab space. She hit the lights, grabbing a ring-light on a swing-arm and bringing it over to him.

“Where is everybody?” he asked.

She was engrossed with looking at his shoulder. “Hm? Oh, this floor is all me. Well, right now. There used to… sorry, how deep under your skin does this go? May I?”

She indicated that she was going to touch his shoulder.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

She prodded his skin gently, feeling across his chest to his sternum, down across his ribs and under his arm.

“You’re burning up, are you sick?”

“No, I run hot. Something about my metabolism, I don’t know.”

Her fingers ran across his back, up his spine, and around both sides of his neck. He felt himself holding his breath as she walked around, inspecting him. He couldn’t really understand why her fingertips on his skin made his heart jump. She was hardly the first person to poke and prod him. Not even the first pretty one.

“Mh. Please tell me Shuri didn’t put all this metal in.”

She walked back around, in front of him.

“No, most of that is left from Hydra.”

She scowled. “Fucking Nazis, man. I’m gonna need a scan to see how bad it is. There’s no reason for them to have removed all that tissue.  
How about the seam, does it hurt?”

Gingerly, she touched the angry red scarring around his shoulder, where skin met metal.

His heart was doing the jump thing again.

“Nuh—no, not for a long time. Actually, I can barely feel it.”

She huffed. “Small blessings, I guess. Alright, um…” she glanced at his chest, “you can put your shirt back on. Thank you.”

He straightened out his shirt, pulling it on. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

“Uncomfortable, no. It pisses me off. It looks like it fucking hurts and, I know this isn’t news to you, but Nazis are bastards.”

He laughed. “Doc, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Anymore,” she added, bitterly.

“Yeah, well, fair enough.”

He followed her back to her office.

“Sarg… Mist… James? Can I call you James?”

“You ought to call me Bucky. Really.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because, it just seems really familiar, and I feel like…”

“Doc, Bucky. Everyone calls me Bucky.”

She smiled.

“You gonna call me Lydia?”

He smiled back, shrugging. “Could happen.”

She laughed. “Fucking hypocrite!”

“Well, in my defense, Doc is shorter than Lydia.”

“And James is shorter than Bucky!”

He laughed. “Call me whatever you want.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Alright, alright. I’m looking forward to working with you… Jim.”

“Anything but Jim.”

They both laughed.

“Bucky.”

“You know where to find me, Lydia. Let me know when you need me.”

She walked him back to the elevator and they shook hands awkwardly as he got on.

“Have a nice day?” she offered.

“You too. And thank you for your help.”

“Any time.”

The doors closed and he couldn’t seem to shake his smile as he rode back to his floor.


	3. Strawberry Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

About a week and a half later, Bucky was on the way home from the grocery store one night and, as he approached the tower, he saw that Dr. Russell’s floor’s light was on, even though (not that he had checked or anything) he was pretty sure that her office hours were 8-5 and it was going on 9 PM. He decided checking in on her would be a good thing to do, and definitely not just because he had been looking for a reason to drop by. He considered the button for his own floor before he hit 76 and rode the elevator up.

When he walked into her lab, he found her bent over a table, working with some kind of hand-held laser. He stood in the doorway, watching her for a minute and, yeah, maybe noticing that this time she didn’t have on a sweatshirt (well, she did, it was tied around her hips) and that the slightly dirty tank top she had on seemed to flatter her and, huh, she had a lot more tattoos than he would have guessed. When she put the laser down for a second, he snapped himself out of it.

“Doc?”

She jumped, turning to face him.

“Oh, Barnes! You scared the hell out of me.”

“That’s two for two, I guess I’m scarier than I thought.”

“No, I just get too wrapped up in something and I forget…” she looked past him and her eyes narrowed. “Is it dark outside?”

He laughed. “Well, yeah, that’s why I’m here. I ran out to buy some ice cream because it’s 9 PM and I make famously good decisions,” he held up a plastic bag, illustratively, “and on my way back, I saw that your light was still on and wondered if you knew how late it was.”

She sighed, deflating and leaning back against her table, smiling at him.

“Well, I didn’t, but you must not make evening ice cream runs often, because I'm here late every day.”

“Every day?”

She shrugged. “Maybe 4 days a week.”

“Doc, it sounds like you need a hobby.”

“What can I say, I honestly love my work. But, question…”

“Shoot”

“How did you notice my light, from ground level? I would wager that there are several lights on in this building, and you picked out mine?”

“Is floor counting a skill? I don’t know, it’s not something I think about. I just noticed.”

“A skill Hydra forced you to take up, I assume?”

He shrugged and averted his gaze down to his bag, reaching into it and pulling out his ice cream.

“You should probably get home before that melts.”

“Want some?”

“I’m not gonna eat your ice cream!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s yours! I don’t know, I assume you must have really wanted it, if you actually went out to get it. I don’t want to say you’re notoriously reclusive or anything…”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He tried to smile but for just a moment his eyes grew dark. “I don’ know, I always feel like I’m gonna run into someone who’ll say I killed their mom or something.”

Her face fell, immediately. “Awww… well that’s... really depressing”

“I know,” he laughed, “so I don’t like going out there, but sometimes you need ice cream… and now I’ve made you sad. Do you want some or not?”

The pout was not gone from her face. “What kind is it?”

“Strawberry.”

She sighed. “Yeah, alright, let me go find a couple of spoons.”

She returned with them and he took the lid off, holding the pint out to her. “First bite?”

“No, I insist.”

He scooped some and dropped the spoon into his mouth before holding the carton back out to her.

“I don’t wanna eat your ice cream!”

“Doc.” His mouth was full and she couldn’t help but find it slightly adorable.

“What if I have cooties?” She replied, laughing.

“You’re being a brat. Do you not want any?”

“No, I do—I actually don't know if—did I eat dinner? I just…” she sighed, scooping some out, putting it into her mouth, and immediately becoming aware of how close they were standing.

“It’s good,” she opined, before swallowing.

“I know,” he responded, taking a bite as she stepped back, leaning again onto her desk. "You really should eat real food, though."

She shrugged, making a non-committal noise and gesturing at nothing with her spoon.

He took another spoonfull and handed her the tub, feeling like he should change the subject. “I like your tattoo.”

She took it. “Which one?” She scraped around the edges of the carton, compiling another bite.

He pointed to her clavicle with his spoon. “Надежда умирает последней.”

“Oh, спасибо {thank you}.” She put the spoon into her mouth.

“You speak Russian?”

“Да {yes}. I know you do, too. I thought about bringing it up, but I figured it would be a sore subject.”

He shrugged. “So, what’s it mean?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know надежда. Honestly, I don’t know as much Russian as everyone thinks I do. I really only know operational terminology, so I can talk about eliminating targets all day, but normal conversation, not so much.”

“Making me sad again, Barnes. Надежда means hope.”

“Hope dies last.”

She nodded.

“Well, that’s certainly Russian.”

She handed him the ice cream. “It’s a proverb.”

He took a bite. “An aggressively Russian proverb.”

She laughed. “I know. There’s a different way of…”

“Thinking. I know... So, uh, why do you know Russian?”

“My family’s all Russian. Well, on my mom’s side.”

“And let me guess, dad was born and raised in the American midwest.”

“Please don’t tell me I have the accent.”

“No, but you do say ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda.’”

She blinked at him for a second before a smile creased her face. “I almost forgot how we met.”

“Some punk in a bodega.”

She laughed. “He would have killed me if you hadn’t stepped in, you know.”

“Nah, you had him on the ropes.”

They both laughed at that.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what has you staying here so late?”

“What do you think?”

“My arm?”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s become kind of a pet project and I’m really eager to get to testing.”

“I’m not in a hurry, you know.”

“No offense, but I’m not doing it for you. It’s a really cool project and I’m excited for the opportunity to work on it. The fact that you get a new arm out of it is just a fun little bonus.”

“Ouch.”

She chuckled. “Sorry, shall I lie next time? Oh, mister Winter Soldier, it’s because you’re my favorite Avenger and I want desperately to impress you.”

He laughed. “Well, you did just say that I saved your life.”

She tilted her head back, thinking. “You know, if I hadn’t had the absolute pleasure to get to know Steve while you slackers were hanging around in non-existence, you probably would be. My favorite, that is.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. Steve’s my favorite, too.”

“Though, I’ve never met Wanda, but she is like… so pretty.”

“You think?”

She laughed. “I do, but I’m also just being an ass.”

“Mh, she’s not my type.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you gay? No judgment if you are, obviously, but—”

“No. I mean, she’s fine, I just…” he shrugged.

“Well, to each their own, I guess.”

They were both silent for a minute.

“Though, Steve is old as dirt,” he added, “and not technically an Avenger anymore, so I’m just saying…”

“Do you want me to say you’re my favorite Avenger?”

“No, I’m just pointing out…”

She grinned, reaching out and taking the ice cream back from him. “Well, since you saved my life AND shared your ice cream with me...”

“Doc, it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, fine.” She barely concealed her smile as she took a bite and looked up at him. “Can I get your autograph?”

He laughed. “Shut up.”

They sat there and talked for another two hours, long after the ice cream ran out, and she hesitated before rejecting his offer to walk her home. They exchanged a brief goodbye in Russian before taking two different elevators to leave, him up and her down.


	4. 11 Missed Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the surprise hiatus! I think I'm really back now, I just had some personal drama to deal with.
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Bucky showed up again the next night and was greeted with a smile. God, she always looked so pretty. Not pretty like the women he remembered liking in the 40s. Today, eschewing her normal braid, she had her hair in a massive, messy pile on top of her head. She was wearing a tee shirt bearing some kind of logo and pants that came down just past her knees with bright yellow socks and what looked like her normal, probably steel-toed boots. The combination would have looked bizarre, he thought, on anyone else, but somehow, she was radiant.

“Добрый вечер, Бак… Баки звучит глупо на русском языке. Я звоню тебе Джеймс. {Good evening Buck… Bucky sounds silly in Russian. I’m going to call you James.}”

“Добрый вечер, Доктор. {Good evening, Doctor.} And that’s fine.” He grinned. “How ya doin’?” He moved a pile of papers from the chair he had sat on the first time he came here to the floor and sat down.

She shrugged. “Can’t complain. Trying to work on…” she huffed “eliminating mass from your arm, for Newtonian reasons, means you won’t punch as hard, but Shuri and I are working on a solution.”

“I have every faith in you. What happened to your hand?” It was wrapped in bandages.

“Mh…” she ignored his question, glancing at her computer screen, which was filled with math. “I hope your faith is well placed.”

“Doc, your hand.”

“Oh, nothing. I wasn’t wearing the proper PPE, happens all the time. Anyway, um… what’s up, do you need anything?”  
She glanced up at him and her eyes sparkled and suddenly it was hard to swallow. Also, he had really hoped she wouldn’t ask. He had no reason to be there except that he wanted to be there.

“Uh, no. Just… checking on the arm.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Oh, don’t look so self-conscious. You’re an Avenger, for fuck’s sake. You don’t need a reason to visit my lab… which is in Avenger Tower.”

“Oh, thank god, because I just got bored and wandered down.” He grinned cheekily and she laughed. The sound gave him butterflies. It wasn’t totally a lie. He was bored. The part he had chosen not to say was that he had been bored all day and had waited until it seemed like it was late enough to justify him showing up.

“Well, you're always welcome. You have a nice day?” Her phone started ringing and she silenced it. He had seen the screen, though. The name “Chris” and a picture of a handsome guy with short brown hair. Something twisted in his stomach and he tried to shrug it off.

“Yeah. Uh, I mean... not a lot to do. I read a book.” He shrugged.

“Anything interesting?”

“It was called Catcher in the Rye. It was okay.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it’s a little... something, but it’s a classic for a reason. Do you like that kind of literature?”

He shrugged. “Not really. I don’t know, I just feel like I’ve missed a lot. I found a list of the best books from the last hundred years and I’m just trying to read all of the ones I didn’t read before the war.”

“That’s a pretty good way to start. Maybe skip to To Kill a Mockingbird. Considerably less teenage whining.”

He laughed. “Thank god for that, Is it good?”

“It’s pretty good, yeah.”

“Well, I’ll add it to next week’s library list.”

She grinned at him, resting her chin on her hand. “The thought of you waiting in line with a pile of classic books at a library is hilarious for some reason.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. I don't like leaving the tower, but if I have to, well... at least there are considerably fewer fights at the library than at your average bodega.”

She laughed. “I mean, good. Otherwise, what the hell is going on at the library?”

“Fight Club, obviously.”

“Have you seen Fight Club?”

“No, but someone explained the basics to me.”

“Oh, it’s good. I recommend it.”

“Well, once I have read the mockingbird book and know whether I trust your judgment, I’ll think about it.”

She laughed. “Nobody doesn’t like To Kill a Mockingbird, except racists.”

“No pressure, then.”

Her phone rang again. Chris. She silenced it.

“Hey, do you mind if I eat? I’m starving.” He pulled out a protein bar.

“Actually,” she opened a drawer in her desk and dug around, pulling out a different kind of protein bar, “I’ll join you.” She held it up, like a toast. “The dinner of champions.”

He started unwrapping his. “You’re not supposed to eat dinner at 8 PM, you know.”

She shrugged, tearing hers open and taking a bite. “That’s an arbitrary rule. Besides, you’re not one to talk.”

“Actually, I ate dinner at 6 and it was real food. Well, by comparison.” He started eating his.

“Not enough of it, clearly.”

“Yeah, well…” he started to respond with his mouth full then swallowed, “I have some kind of crazy metabolism, so I have to eat like ten thousand calories a day or I get really tired.”

“Right, thus the absurd body heat.”

“Exactly.”

She looked around, thinking. “Ten thousand calories. That’s insane.”

“I’m not very good at it.” He shrugged.

“Nobody would be good at it. Jesus Christ. That’s like… you would never be able to stop eating.”

“Well, the cheese fries at the steakhouse down the street are like three thousand, so those help sometimes.”

“Somehow, I don’t think those are the kinds of calories you need.”

“Ugh, you sound just like Katie.”

She blinked. “Girlfriend?”

“What?” He laughed. “Not in a thousand years. No. She’s the team nutritionist. It’s her job to yell at us when we eat the wrong stuff… well mostly me, but it’s impossible to eat so much and have it all be perfect with the macro thing.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

Her phone rang again and she silenced it.

“Never going to answer that, are you?”

She looked down at it, frowning. She poked at a button and the screen illuminated. “11 MISSED CALLS”

“Good to know you were ignoring him before I got here. Boyfriend? Or ex, I would guess?” The twisting in his stomach was back.

She grimaced, turning the screen back off and not looking up at him. “Husband. Current.”

Whatever had been twisting in his stomach felt like it tore in half and his mouth went dry. Husband. Of course she was married. He looked at her hand, sure she wasn’t wearing a ring, and saw a thin band tattooed into her skin.

_Fuck._

He opened his mouth to respond but no words came out, so he shut it again.

“Ugh, I’m such a shitty wife.”

He didn’t respond.

“He’s mad at me and I don’t want to talk to him. I know it’s not the mature way to handle it, but I don…”

She stopped talking as it started ringing again and they both just stared at it.

“I should answer it, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably.”

She sighed, picking it up and sliding her finger across the screen, before holding it to her ear. Bucky hated that he had excellent selective hearing and could hear both sides of the conversation.

“Hello?”

“Really? You ignore my calls all day and it’s hello? Hello yourself, Lyd, what the fuck?”

“I’m at work. I know what you want to talk about and I’m at fucking work, so it’s not a good time.”

“Oh, really? Well, why don’t you let me know when you can pencil me in?”

“Can we not just talk at home?”

“We could if you were ever here. Do you know what time it is?”

“You know I have a project. Since when are late nights a problem? It’s not like…”

“Fuck you and your late nights. Is Sam there? Is that what’s going on?”

“What? No! And even if he was, there is NOTHING going on with Sam!”

“Oh really? Because, you know, that tabloid got pictures of the two of you.”

“Oh my god, we went to see a movie!”

“That’s a date.”

“No, it wasn’t. He is my friend. I'm allowed to have friends.”

“You’re so full of shit. You know what, don’t come home. Sleep at your desk. I don’t give a shit. I’m sure Sam will let you stay with him.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why are you being like this? Jesus, I… do you want me to come home?”

“Fuck you, Lyd. Do whatever you want. You’re going to, anyway.”

He hung up. She said “Okay, talk later… Bye,” but it was just for Bucky’s sake and he knew it.

She looked at the phone and then up at him.

The torn thing in his stomach was on fire.

“I'm so sorry you had to hear that.”

“What... what’s his problem?”

She sighed heavily. “I think he just hates me.”

He blinked a couple of times. “Why?” He couldn't fathom hating her, but he might have been biased.

She leaned back at her desk. “Do you actually want to hear the whole story, or are you just being polite?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Truthfully, he kind of didn’t want to know, but there was a morbid curiosity eating at him and if she was willing to talk, he had to listen.

“So, we got married really young. In college. He was a year ahead of me. We were like… the perfect couple, back then. We never fought, we got into the same grad school, we were passionate about the same things. I thought. Anyway, um… the first couple of years were great. No issues. And then, the blip happened….”

“And he disappeared.” Bucky finished for her.

She nodded grimly. “And you have to understand, I was a different person back then. I was shy. I was… I don’t know, submissive, I guess. I looked to him for everything. And suddenly he was gone, and so was my favorite professor and so was my best friend’s husband and it was just like… we had to learn how to be people all over again, you know? And then she died—my friend—and I have never been so alone, and I had to...” she shrugged “I had to learn how to be my own person. I had nobody left to lean on. And it took a big chunk of those 5 years, but I figured it out. I could handle myself. I got into a PhD program. I moved on…”

She trailed off and he took a deep breath, knowing where it was going. “Then we all came back.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I was done mourning him. I was dating someone else. I was a different person living a different life. And for him, as you well know, no time had passed. So he shows up and for him it’s the same afternoon and I am just a different person. 5 years different. And he wants things to be like they were and he gets so mad at me, but… I honestly wish I could be the person he remembers. I do. But I’m not. I barely remember her... If that makes sense. And then it just escalated and now we can’t seem to talk at all without fighting. Suddenly, he’s jealous of my friends and he—it’s like he’s mad at me that I got ahead of him? It sounds so stupid but it’s like, now I’m older than he is and I have my PhD and he doesn’t and it’s like he resents me. He resents that he feels like I'm beating him. He resents that he doesn’t feel like I need him anymore. And I don’t, but I’m kind of pissed off, too, that he’s not happy for me. I’m my own person. I went through something terrible and I found my way out the other side! Why isn't that a good thing? We’re supposed to be on the same team, you know?”

He nodded, his head feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m sorry. I know, as a person who was blipped, it’s probably hard to think about.”

“Actually, I know exactly what you mean. I went through the same thing.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “Well, not the same, but… when I got taken by Hydra… well, suffice it to say, I changed a lot. And then all these years pass and Steve rescues me and he was so happy to have me back—don’t get me wrong, I was happy too—but I wasn’t the same guy who fell off that train. The person that Steve turned Europe inside out looking for was not the person he found. Being Steve, he handled it better than your husband did. But I had exactly the same feeling. I wish I remembered how to be the person he wanted me to be. That guy was happy.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, miserably.

“Well,” she finally said, “for what it’s worth, I didn’t know you in the 40s, but I like the guy you are now.” She smiled weakly.

He smiled back. “Same. So..." he winced, but knew he had to ask, "do you need to go home?”

She shot a glance at her phone. “I probably should. I don’t really want to.”

He took a moment to remind himself, painfully, that offering her his guest room, which nobody except Steve had ever stayed in, was the wrong move. “You’re right. You probably should.”

She sighed, looking at her computer and then pulling out her key card, causing the screen to go dark. “Well then.” She took a slightly too-big bite to finish her protein bar, and threw the wrapper away, holding the trash can out to him, and he threw his away, as well. He stood up, watching uncomfortably as she gathered her things to leave, and they walked together to the elevator.

“So, uh… Let me know what you need from me, for the arm.”

She thought that sounded an awful lot like _I’m not coming back here unless I have to_. “I still need those scans. Otherwise, until it’s ready for fitting and testing, I think we’re good.”

He nodded. “I’ll schedule it with Friday.”

She nodded, too, looking at her shoes and hitting the elevator call buttons, both up and down.

“I appreciate you dropping by,” she said, more quietly than she meant to.

“Any time. I mean it.”

She smiled up at him right as the first elevator arrived.

“Have a nice night, Bucky.”

“You too, Doc.”


	5. Bandages and Egg Rolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, generally my posting schedule is more like once a week, not every 2 days, but since it took me so long to post the last chapter and it was kind of a bummer, I thought I'd go ahead and put out the next one, which ends on a somewhat more uplifting note lol.
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Bucky didn’t go to the lab the next night. He told himself there was no point. He shouldn’t be flirting with a married woman, no matter how shitty her husband was. Not that he was going there just to flirt. They were friends. Sort of. It didn’t matter, she probably wasn’t even there.

The last point, at least, was correct. Unusually, that day, she left work at 5 PM. She stopped on the way home to pick up Italian food and then she and Chris sat at the dinner table, picking at it without saying a word to each other. Afterwards, she sat in a corner in the living room, running equations on her laptop while he watched television slightly too loud for her to tune out. That was Friday, and after the events of the previous night, she spent a considerable chunk of Saturday quashing the silent panic that Bucky wouldn’t come by anymore. It didn’t matter, really. She enjoyed his company, but he certainly didn’t owe her his time. He wasn’t her friend, she reminded herself. Certainly not… anything else. He was a client. Besides, she considered Sam a friend, and the very idea that two Avengers would want to be her friends was a serious delusion of grandeur. Three if you count T'Challa, which she didn't. He wasn't technically an Avenger. The point was, she wasn’t that interesting.

* * *

Sam woke up Saturday to find Bucky sitting in the larger of the two common areas, which was unusual. The man was a notorious recluse. He only left his own quarters for training, missions, and when he ran out of food.

“Morning,” Sam offered, trying to sound casual.

Bucky didn’t reply, but just turned to look at him, fiddling with the wrapper of a protein bar.

“Everything alright?”

“You’re friends with Doctor Russell, right?”

“Lyd? Yeah. You know her?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, she’s building me a new arm.”

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“Nothing. Shuri is just… nothing, it works fine.”

Sam walked past him to get some coffee.

“Okay, so what about her? Lydia.”

Bucky didn’t respond and Sam found a mug, sighing. Getting anything out of this guy was like pulling teeth. He poured the coffee and sipped it, grimacing at how cold it was, as he walked back to sit across from the super soldier.

“You’re the one who brought it up, man. So, what?”

“Have you met her husband?”

Oh. Sam knew exactly what it was about. Probably.

“Kind of a nightmare, isn’t he? He doesn’t hit her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No. I mean, good, but fucking…”

“I know, she deserves better.”

“I think he thinks she’s sleeping with you.”

Sam laughed, taking another sip of the cold coffee. “Well, he’s paranoid, so yeah, I guess he would.”

“I didn’t even think you liked women.”

“Oh, I don’t, but he doesn’t know that. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t believe it. The guy’s an asshole. He say something to you?”

“No. I just overheard a conversation he had with her.”

“You’re a creep, you know that?”

“Fuck you, I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was just sitting there when he called and I have good hearing.”

“Get some headphones. So, what are you getting at?”

“There’s nothing we can do to help her, is there?”

It wasn’t really a question. He knew the answer. Sam scooted forward in his seat, leaning toward Bucky conspiratorially.

“No. And let me tell you something about Lydia Russell: she does not want or need help. Treat her like a damsel in distress, I promise you, she will break your nose. If she wants something to change, she’ll change it.”

Bucky didn’t reply, just thought back to the day they met—pictured her squaring up with that guy who could have stepped on her. Yeah, it felt true.

“That it?” Sam finally asked.

“If I’m her friend, will it cause more trouble for her? With him, I mean?’

“Yes.”

Bucky recoiled. It wasn’t the answer he wanted.

“Listen, Chris is possessive. He doesn’t like her spending time with anyone but him and when she does, he gets mad.” He shrugged. “What can you do?”

“I just like her, I’m not trying to make her life difficult.”

“Man, whether you’re one of them or not, she’s going to have friends and he’s going to have to get over it… Wait,” Sam leaned back a little and narrowed his eyes, “do you like her or do you like her?”

“What are you, ten? I like her. Who cares?”

“Oh, okay. So that’s what this is about.”

“We’re just friends, don’t be an asshole.”

“Ay, whatever you say.”

“Sam.”

Sam held one hand up in surrender, taking another sip of his coffee.

Bucky grumbled, getting up to go back to his apartment. He hesitated when he got to the elevator and turned to look at Sam, who was still watching him with some interest. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“They’re fighting.”

“What’s new?”

“I just mean… I think she needs a friend right now. Maybe not me. You should call her.”

Sam studied him for a second before nodding. “A’right, will-do.”

Bucky nodded and turned back to the elevator, pushing the button.

* * *

Bucky didn’t go to her lab Monday, either. He wanted to, but realized too-late that he still hadn’t made an appointment with the imaging lab and she might bring it up, which would be embarrassing, and that felt like a good enough reason to wait. He did make an appointment, though, for Wednesday morning. Tuesday, he decided he was being absurd and went down, earlier than normal, around 6 PM, to find her boots sticking out from under a large piece of equipment that he had never seen before. He crouched by her, peering under, but couldn’t really get close enough to the ground to see what she was doing without laying down.

“Hey, Doc.”

She startled, trying to sit up and hitting her head, before cursing and pushing herself out. He helped her to her feet. Her forehead was bleeding.

“Shit, are you okay?”

She touched it and looked at her hand, seeing the blood.

“Sorry. Yeah, um…” She left the room and he followed her to a smaller room that seemed to be 80% first aid and 20% bathroom. She looked in the mirror and turned the sink on, trying to wash the blood off, but it was coming faster now. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she told him, pulling out gauze and bandages, “head wounds just bleed a lot. But why am I telling you that? You probably know. Hi! How have you…”

He couldn’t watch her fumble through her own first aid anymore. “Let me do that, please.” he took the supplies from her. “Alcohol?”

“It’s fine.”

“There’s grease in the cut, I need alcohol.”

He spent several minutes bandaging her up and apologizing profusely before he was satisfied with the result. She spent the whole time telling him it was fine, not a big deal, not his fault. Both of them were more than slightly distracted by how closely he held his face to hers as he tended to the wound. He was only inches away and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She was sitting on the edge of the sink with him standing between her legs and he was massive and hot—literally, she could feel the heat radiating off of him—and he smelled like sweat and stale coffee and she… didn’t hate it. Actually, it was all she could do to keep her breathing regular. There was nothing in her power, though, that could stop her heart from racing, and she wondered if it was making her bleed more. On his end… he was trying to focus on her cut, because otherwise all he was aware of was her cool breath on his neck, her knees hanging on either side of his thighs, her hair, wet from the alcohol, sticking to her forehead an inch away from his fingertips.

“Джеймс, всё хорошо, мне постоянно больно. {James, it’s fine, I get hurt all the time.}”

“Да, но на этот раз это была моя вина. {Yes, but this time, it was my fault.} You would think I would know by now how easily you startle.”

“Which is also not your fault.”

He pulled back to inspect his work before leaning back in. “Christ, how are you still bleeding?” He reached for her forehead and wiped a little bit of blood that was dripping from under one of the bandages before she grabbed him by the wrist, pulling his arm back down to his side and holding it there. Her fingers tightened around his wrist and his breath caught in his throat.

“Bucky, it’s fine. It’ll stop when it stops. You have to give the platelets time.”

He huffed.

“We’re not all super soldiers,” she added.

“And thank goodness for that.”

She let go of his arm and he hesitated a moment before going to put the supplies away.

“How have you been?” she asked, sounding tired.

“Well, no head wounds, so better than you.”

She laughed. “It’s fine.”

“How have you been?" he asked, walking back in. "Better, I hope?”

They both knew he was talking about Chris.

“Yeah, actually, it’s been okay. Sam and I went out Sunday, so… you know, a distraction is always nice.”

He mentally patted himself on the back for asking Sam to reach out.

“Oh, did you? Good. Yeah, he’s a good guy. Do anything fun?”

“We went to Coney Island, actually. It’s dumb, but we enjoyed ourselves.”

“Late in the season for that, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “Fewer tourists.”

He nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”

They were both silent for an uncomfortable minute.

“Hey,” he piped up, “have you eaten? I’m starving.”

“Do you want батонч… fuck, I can never remember that word in english.” She held her hands up, making a rectangle with her fingers. “Um… батончики?”

“Candy bars?” He laughed.

“Nuh-uh, the other ones. Like last week.”

“Protein bars.”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I was thinking about ordering Chinese.”

Her whole posture softened and a dreamy smile swept over her face. “Oh, I love Chinese food so much.”

“Then it’s decided.”

“Please order like a hundred eggrolls.”

“Don’t tempt me, I could actually eat a hundred eggrolls.”

She laughed and watched him as he dug out his phone, scrolling around until he got to an order screen.

“What do you like?”

“Egg rolls.”

He didn’t look up at her. “Real food, Lydia, that you eat with a fork.”

“Who eats Chinese with a fork? Um… Something spicy. Ooh! Mongolian beef!”

“White rice or fried?”

“Fried.”

He poked around for a few more minutes before turning off his screen and smiling up at her. The way his smile crinked the corners of his eyes and his hair fell around his face almost knocked her off balance. “Twenty minutes.”

She blinked the feeling away. “Um, do you not know how to eat with chopsticks?”

“Why would you eat with chopsticks?”

“Because it’s Chinese food.”

“Do you eat Korean food with Sujeo?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Exactly. Forks are efficient.”

“Okay, but what’s Sujeo?”

“Chopsticks and a special little spoon thing. That’s not the point.”

She smiled. “I’m still going to use chopsticks.”

He smiled back. “Well, you’re pretentious, but I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“You should use chopsticks, too. It’s not hard.”

“Fuck chopsticks.” They both laughed. "How can somebody as clumsy as you even hold those things?"

She shook her head. “So what about you, Bucky, did you do anything fun this weekend?”

“What is fun? No, I’m kidding. I um… I trained. Oh, I read To Kill a Mockingbird. You’re right, it’s good.”

She smiled.

“Any other recommendations? Other than Fight Club.”

“The movie, not the book,” she clarified. “Um… There are so many good books, where do you even start?”

“Around 1943.”

She laughed. “Well, that’s a lot of books. Let’s see… I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Oh, hey, did you ever get the scans of your arm done?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, good.”

“Did you ever work out the Newton problem?”

“I think so, but we’re still running simulations to see if it works out.”

“Good.”

“Yep.”

They stared at each other for a few minutes, unable to think of anything to say.

“So, um, what are you working on, in there?”

“Oh my god, it’s so fucking cool. Here, come here.”

He followed her in and she spent about fifteen minutes excitedly explaining what amounted to a small, flying tank.

“And that’s not even the best part! Listen, we all have our power sources. Stark liked the arc reactor, obviously.” She sighed. “Shuri likes vibranium, which, of course she does, it’s essentially self-powering, but with what I have access to, I have gotten really…”

The phone at her desk rang and she ran out of the room to answer it.

“Yes, sir, we did.”

“I think so, hold on.” Her voice got louder “China Garden?”

“Yep,” Bucky shouted back.

“Yes, China Garden.”

“Yeah, 76th Floor.”

“Thank you!”

She ran back. “We’re about to have food!”

They ate in relative silence, occasionally throwing a jab at the other’s utensil choices.

“Thank you for the food,” she offered.

“Well, if you get too malnourished, you might mess up my arm, so it’s actually very self-interested.”

She laughed. “Okay, I’ll accept that.”

“I still can’t believe you ate 5 egg rolls.”

“Shut up, I told you to order a lot.”

“Yes, you did.”

They spent another hour or so talking about her “Aerial Urban Defense Vehicle” and books he should read and just how frequently she injured herself on the job (not _quite_ every day) before the uncomfortable silence came back.

After several minutes, he said “well, I should probably go. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

He got up, grabbing one of the remaining egg rolls, and she followed him to the elevator

“Thank you for checking on me,” she said.

“I wasn’t.”

“I know that you were. And I know that you asked Sam to check on me, too.”

“Well, he’s a dirty rotten snitch.”

She laughed. “He didn’t say anything, I just know.”

“Well… I know you don’t need our help. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Я могу позаботиться о себе, Джеща. {I can take care of myself, Djesha.}”

They both froze for a second when she said that. It had just slipped out. Djesha. It was the way “James” would be turned into a pet name of James was a name people used in Russia. It was the sort of thing a person might call a family member, a good friend, or a lover, but not just an acquaintance. Not a client. She didn’t know why she had said it or how he would react.

On his end, he was just trying to make sure the fireworks going off in his brain didn’t shoot out of his ears. He didn’t know the source of the affection, but even if it was just friendly… he wanted to be her friend.

He smiled warmly. “Я знаю, но тебе не нужно… Лида. Мы здесь для тебя. {I know, but you don’t need to… Lyda. We’re here for you.}”

He had returned the gesture, if somewhat awkwardly. Lyda. Pet name for Lydia. The sort of thing a person might call a family member, a good friend, or...

She took a deep breath, smiling and hugging him. He went rigid. He hadn’t been hugged by anyone except Steve since… 1943. It was an odd sensation. It took him a couple of seconds, but around the time that she gave up and started to let go, he hugged her back. It was brief, it was somewhat mechanical, but it was something, and the way she smiled up at him after pulling away made his spine melt. He smiled back at her and she pushed the elevator call button.

“Your Russian is better than you said it was,” she said while they waited.

“I got a book on that too.” Actually, he had gotten several.

She wondered what use he had for Russian, other than talking to her, but chose not to ask.

When the carriage arrived, he stepped on.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

“Same.”

The doors closed and he was gone.

She went back to her office and flopped into her chair, deflating. What the hell was she doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this story!  
Comments help me out a lot, so if you have anything to say or you just want to let me know what you think, it's much appreciated! Thank you!


	6. You buy his merch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Peggy is still alive in this story. Idk, I just feel like Steve would take great care of her and she would live a little longer (also, I just love her and want her to be alive).
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

He went again the next day. He couldn’t decide if dropping by so often was getting weird or if it was seeming more normal the more it happened and he didn’t care very much. Besides, he had spent a large chunk of his morning in the basement having scans of both his arms taken for her, showing up to discuss them was as close to a legitimate reason to visit as he would ever have. He showed up just before eight and found projections of his shoulders and torso, some with the skin peeled back, hovering in the air all over the place. She was right, the metal went deeper under his skin than he realized. It took him a moment to see her through them, and she was manipulating a little piece of holographic metal in three dimensional space with her fingers. She had that loup in her eye again, and she addressed him without looking up.

“Привет, Джеша. {Hi, Djesha.}”

His stomach did a flip every time she called him that.

“Привет. Это… creepy, {Hi. This is… (creepy)}” he said, gesturing around.

“Жутко. {Creepy}” She laughed. “Да, немнога. {Yeah, a little.}”

“Did you at least get the information you need?”

“Mh, some of it. The damage is… extensive. But I know what I need next.”

She pulled the loup out of her eye, finally turning to look at him. The little pink ring it caused was back. The excitement on her face was slightly unnerving but between that and the eye ring and the forehead wound, she was such a sight, he couldn’t help smiling at her. “Your forehead is healing nicely.”

She ignored him. “Motion data.”

He waited a moment for her to explain, but she didn’t. “By which you mean…”

“Every video of you fighting has been stripped off the internet. They were impressively thorough. I managed to get one from a refragmented Hydra file, but the angle is fucking awful, and I have to see how you fight with this thing. Can I come watch some of your training? Or sparring or… whatever? With a camera? Of course, if you don’t want me there, I could probably get permission from Pepper to have a camera installed in the gym and just collect data from that.”

He blinked at her. “You want to watch me fight?”

“I don’t want to, I need to. Well, from the one shitty clip I have seen, it’s fascinating, so I guess I also want to, but that isn’t the point.”

He shrugged. “Fight who?”

“Given the choice, as many varied enemies as possible. Another super soldier, the Hulk, War Machine, a magic user—Wanda or Stephen Strange? Ooh, maybe several regular humans at once? I assume if you were to fight one, you would make short work of them. I wish the Vision was still around, he would be perfect.”

“You might have to wait a while on the super soldier. Steve’s gotten a bit old and T’Challa doesn’t come into town very often.”

She grinned slyly and he instinctively smiled back. “What would you say if I told you that he’ll be here for three days next week? Well, two days, the other day he’ll be in Oakland.”

“For… Thanksgiving, I hope? Please tell me you’re not flying him in just for this.”

“Don’t be absurd, you haven’t even said yes yet. Though Shuri might have gotten excited and pulled a string or two… And for the record, T’Challa doesn’t care about American holidays, though that is the day he'll be at the Institute in Oakland, so maybe it matters to the kids.”

He shook his head. “You and Shuri could be extremely dangerous when you work together. Uh, yeah, it’s fine with me. Just to clarify, you said it's not actually on Thanksgiving, right? Because I’m going to DC to eat with Steve and Peggy.”

“No, everyone will be out of town for Thanksgiving, you're good. Whenever you would normally be training is fine, as long as you can also accommodate a session Tuesday or Wednesday next week. I need someone who can fly, too. God, I wish Vision was still around.”

“War Machine flies.”

“Yeah, but he’s more about projectiles. I need someone who can actually fight in the—mh, the magic users can fly, I guess. Oh, and no jacket. Maybe like… a tank top or shirtless? I need to be able to see your arm and shoulder.”

He nodded casually, sitting down across from her. “So, what clip did you find?”

She hesitated. “It was… it looked like you were fighting another super soldier in a cage in Russia.”

He nodded. “Man or woman?”

“Man.”

“Beard?”

She nodded and he scowled.

“I hated that guy.”

“It didn’t look like he liked you very much either. What were you fighting about?”

“Nothing. Hydra made a few of their deadliest into winter soldiers and they used me to test their ability to fight after they got the serum. I assume he kicked my ass?”

“Yeah, he did, and that’s… fucking awful.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… Zemo killed them all, so…”

“Good, because there’s only room in this world for one Зимний Солдат {Winter Soldier} and I’m exceedingly glad it’s you.”

He laughed. “At least one of us likes me.”

“Favorite avenger.”

“No. I. am. not.” He punctuated every word, sounding indignant.

“Like you said, Steve doesn’t count anymore.”

“What about Sam?”

She laughed. “No. He’s my friend and I like him very much and…” she shook her head, smirking to herself, “no.”

“Okay, I have to know why.”

“Because he has no powers! He is an Avenger because he can fly with the aid of a suit he didn’t even make. Lame. Give me two months to train, I could be the Falcon.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

“Oh my god, please do.” She giggled for several seconds. “Seriously, though. I like him so much as a person. I even buy his stupid merch, but as a superhero? Psh, he could do better and he knows it. Now, T’Challa… if he was an Avenger, he’d be beating you.”

“What? T’Challa is an Avenger.”

“Nope. He was offered a position and he declined, citing focus on the protection of his own country. He is a king now, afterall. How cool is that, by the way? _ King T’Challa _.” She grinned, eyes not focusing on him, as he leaned back in his chair.

“How do you know T’Challa?”

“We were classmates during my semester abroad at Oxford.”

He shook his head, sighing, trying to process everything she was saying. “And did you say you buy his merch?” he asked. “I mean, Sam’s,” he clarified.

She made a face like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do, he’s my friend.”

He laughed, picturing her in Red Wing sneakers or something. “Do you buy my merch?”

“Again, of course. It’s hard to find. You, Steve, Sam, Wanda. Hers is hard to find too, actually.”

“Who else?”

“That’s it. Well, full disclosure, I have a Vision mug but I never use it because it makes me sad.”

He grinned. “Not T’Challa?”

He was teasing her now, but she didn’t go for it, instead replying flatly, “they don’t make Black Panther merch, he’s not an Avenger. Besides, that would be a pretty gross commercial distillation of a really important position in Wakandan culture.” 

He hadn’t thought about it, but it was true. Not that he would expect it to stop the toy companies. He shook his head, ready to talk about something else. “I train every day at 9 AM, but I only spar on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

She beamed. “And I can watch? Friday?”

“Just promise you’ll stay out of the way. You hurt yourself enough, the last thing you need is to get hit by one of us.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. You’re no fun.”

“Do you want a crushed skull?”

“I mean, no, but it would be quite the story, wouldn’t it?”

He shook his head. “And then I guess T’Challa on Monday.”

“Tuesday or Wednesday,” she corrected, glancing at the clock, which was an hour fast. “Hey, do you want to order food?”

“Oh my god, have I started a healthy habit in you?”

She scowled. “Chinese food isn’t healthy.”

“Okay, but it’s real food and I take wins where I can find them.”

“Fair enough. What did you get? Lo mein and some kind of chicken, wasn’t it?”

“I’ll order it.”

“Excuse me, sir, but this is not the forties and we are friends and the shape of our chromosomes does not determine who pays for food.”

“You’re such a brat. You know how much money I make, don’t you?”

“I have no idea how much money you make. How do you make money at all? Aren’t you all technically vigilantes?”

“Yeah. Vigilantes in the employ of Avengers LLC.”

“And what’s your job title?”

He pursed his lips, thinking and she chuckled. “Um… hold on, I know this… DMT stands for… I think it’s Disaster Mitigation Technician?”

She laughed. “That can’t be true. Isn’t DMT a drug?”

“I’m pretty sure.” His voice got louder, “hey, Friday, what’s my job title?”

“Disaster Mitigation Technician. Your personnel file also notes that you’re a Sniping Specialist.”

“SS? Well, that’s just in poor taste.”

Lydia laughed loudly.

She ordered their Chinese food and they stayed up late, talking and eating and occasionally discussing his arm. Her phone rang once and she silenced it. When he left, she promised again to be at his training Friday, adding jokingly that she would be rooting for him, and suddenly the whole thing seemed weirdly… exciting? Fighting in front of her was going to be something else. She called him Djesha again, when they said goodbye, and he called her Lyda and it made both of them feel a little fuzzier than was really appropriate. He did not go by on Thursday evening, telling himself he should turn in early and get a good night of sleep before training the next morning.

Only because it was being recorded, of course.

Not because she was watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are hugely appreciated!


	7. A Winter Soldier Tee Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I feel like this chapter and the next are a tiny bit short, so I'll probably post them both this week? Idk. Be on the lookout for another chapter in a couple of days.
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Bucky was having a little warm-up spar with Clint when she arrived at the gym, and a couple of the others were there, stretching. She tried to contain herself when she spotted Wanda on the other side of the room in extremely tight leggings and a loose fitting shirt that was cut all the way down on the sides, and yeah, she had a sports bra under it, but still. She was so pretty, Jesus Christ. Of course, so was Bucky…

He noticed her standing in the doorway wearing a lab coat, which was unusual, and—_oh my god_—a Winter Soldier tee shirt. This, of course, caused him just enough distraction that Clint was able to get a foot behind his knee, sweeping his leg and knocking him onto his ass. He missed his chance to roll and hit the ground spine first, knocking the wind out of him.

“Hey, you guys see that? I…” Clint's self-congratulation was cut short as Bucky just grabbed his ankle, dragging him to the ground beside him and pulling himself up to sit on the fallen archer’s back. He took a deep breath, finally looking back up to Lydia, who was watching the whole thing from the doorway, unsure of whether to laugh or worry. He waved. She waved back.

Between Clint’s aborted proclamation and the sounds of both men going down, everyone’s attention was on Bucky, now, and following his gaze to her.

“Can I… come in?” she asked, feeling unusually sheepish.

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky replied immediately. “Nice shirt.” She laughed as he got to his feet and offered Clint a hand up, which he took.

“Rude, Barnes,” he muttered.

“Eh, you deserved it.”

He introduced her around—Scott, Peter, Wanda, and Sam, who she obviously knew—and she tried to acknowledge the other people there appropriately and pretend that being in a room with the Scarlet Witch wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to her. The smaller woman’s accent curled around her words as she said hello and Lydia was almost sure that her face was turning scarlet, as well. She knew she was staring.

“Sorry, I’m just such a huge fan of yours.”

Wanda smiled warmly. “No problem. It’s nice to meet you, Doctor.”

Lydia glanced at Bucky over Wanda’s shoulder and couldn’t read his face. He was either angry or trying not to laugh. She looked back to Wanda. “If you ever need any kind of tech. I mean it. I would… I’d be thrilled to be able to make you… I mean, literally anything.”

Ugh, she sounded like an idiot. But the little woman smiled at her before walking back over to the prep area. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head while she dragged a chair over to what seemed like a good vantage point and set up her video equipment. Bucky said he would fight Wanda first and she mentally thanked him for being a good friend, then realized what he was wearing long sleeves. Ugh.

“Hey, Bucky, what did we say about arm visibility?”

“Oh, damn. Sorry.” He pulled off his shirt, not _ feeling _ particularly sorry. Because, yeah, he had noticed the way she looked at him when he took off his shirt that time in her lab. It felt like showing up with no shirt would be weird, but if he got there and then she told him he had to take it off… well, it was for science. Maybe, if he was lucky, she would spend a moment, at some point, looking at him like she couldn’t seem to stop looking at Wanda.

_ No, Buck. Bad. Married. She is married. What are you doing? _

He fought that morning like he hadn’t fought in a long time. The difference was hard to qualify, but he could feel it and so could the others. He almost fought like the Winter Soldier. Almost.

He was ruthless.

Lydia sat and watched in awe. It was difficult for her to take her eyes off Bucky. The way he moved when he fought was… he was a different person. He was calm and focused, graceful and single-minded, brutal and merciless. She was pretty sure that under different circumstances he could have killed every person in the room without breaking a sweat. It was terrifying and... inexplicably erotic. She totally forgot about the notes she was supposed to be taking, watching with rapt attention and occasionally emitting an involuntary squeak when it seemed like someone might have gotten hurt. They all seemed to shrug it off, except for something Bucky accidentally did to Scott’s shoulder when he was fighting three of them at once. Dislocated, they told her, and Bucky popped it back into place with very little regard for how freaked out Scott was by the whole thing. They went out of their usual rotation, getting all of Bucky’s fighting out of the way first, so she could leave if she wanted to, but she didn’t. He toweled off and walked over to sit with her as she watched the rest of them. At least she _ tried _ to watch the rest of the fights, frequently losing interest, or more accurately, getting distracted by the shirtless brick of a man next to her, and several times she stopped looking at the action altogether, instead chatting with him or showing him parts of the footage from his fights.

He felt the oddest sense of relief when he realized that the camera stayed trained on him, even when he was fighting Wanda. She wasn’t here to watch the fights, she was here to watch him. Well, of course. It was all research. Of course. Still, when they reviewed the footage together, she leaned against him as they watched the tiny screen and it gave him goosebumps.

“Should I drop by tonight? It’s my turn to provide food.”

She sighed, putting the camera away. “No, I have to go home early today.”

His brow immediately furrowed. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, no big deal. Just some stuff to take care of before the weekend.”

“Alright, well…” he hated saying goodbye, “have a nice weekend?”

She smiled up at him. “You too. Do me a favor and leave the tower, okay?”

He laughed. “I have to. Library.”

“Right, silly me.”

His face turned serious again. “Hey, if you need anything, call me. Alright?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll be fine. Same, though. Here, let me get… she took out her phone and got his number, then texted him “Хай Джеша! {Hi, Djesha!}” 

“There, now you have my number, too.”

“How did you just type in Russian, I thought your phone was in English?” He was almost sure he had seen “Chris” and not “Крис.” Almost.

“You don’t know how to change the language on your phone? Oh my god, okay. Give it to me.”

He got it out and she installed a Russian keyboard, teaching him how to switch back and forth between languages.

“Does this mean I have to text you in Russian?”

“No, it means you _ can _ text me in Russian.”

He grinned. “Alright, go away. Go set your algorithms on this video before you have to go.”

She gave him a little hug, shorter than the last, not giving him time to process what was happening and hug her back, and she headed for the door.

She shouted "Bye, Djesha!" over her shoulder on her way out.

“So, uh…” Clint walked up to him as the door closed behind her, “that was interesting.”

“Was it?” Bucky wasn’t really in the mood for Hawkeye’s constant snark.

“Yeah, I would say so,” Sam replied. Bucky turned to see everyone else in the gym congregated behind him. He swallowed.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t bother you too badly,” he said, deflecting, “I think she’ll be here next week, too. T’Challa is coming into town.”

”T’Challa?” Scott was visibly excited. “Like Black Panther, T’Challa? That guy is so cool.”

Everyone ignored him.

“Bother? Why would it bother us? You two are precious!” Clint chided, poking his shoulder.

“She’s married, asshole. We’re just friends”

“Ooh, yeah, that’s an issue. We’re just saying.”

“Well, don’t.

“Did she call you Djesha?” Wanda suppressed a giggle.

He sighed. “She did, it’s no big deal. And Wanda, I don’t need this from you.”

“If it helps, I think she likes me more than she likes you,” she said, not quite hiding her grin.

“I don’t know, Wanda,” Clint couldn’t help himself, “it wasn’t your face glowering up at us from her tee shirt.”

Bucky tried to laugh it off, but was unconvincing and just turned to leave. “Alright, you’re all hilarious. I’ll see you Monday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, kudos and comments are hugely appreciated.


	8. You Should See the Other Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I promised another chapter this week, so here we are. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)
> 
> If you speak Xhosa and my use of it in here is bad, I'm sorry. I'm relying on Google Translate for "Wakandan," but I would love feedback from someone who knows better.

He restrained himself from texting her over the weekend and she was at training again on Monday, wearing a different “WINTER SOLDIER!” shirt, which he tried not to be too smug about. He was glad, at least, that Clint wasn’t there to joke about it. Bucky and Lydia hung out that night, eating protein bars and then Chinese food and talking about nothing in particular. He didn’t go by on Tuesday and then Wednesday was the fight with T’Challa.

When she arrived, nobody was fighting yet—Bucky, Sam, and Wanda were standing in a circle around T’Challa, catching up. She came in—no Winter Soldier shirt this time—put her equipment down, and literally ran over. The group parted between them, as T’Challa stepped toward her and easily picked her up in a hug. Bucky’s stomach dropped, both because they looked extremely comfortable together and because almost the whole left side of her face was unignorably bluish-purple. The area under her cheek bone seemed somehow to be both sunken in and swollen at the same time and he knew it hurt, because she winced as she smiled.

“Lyda!” T’Challa seemed not to notice her face. “Ninjani bahlobo bam?”

Lyda? Bucky had never heard anyone else call her Lyda. He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. Her whole family probably called her that. Still...

T’Challa put her down, but they kept their arms loosely around each other.

“Ndiyaphila, unjani?” she replied.

Bucky didn’t know enough Wakandan to know _ exactly _what they were saying—it was a greeting, though—and he didn’t want to interrupt, but he couldn’t help himself. “Lyda, what happened?”

She turned to him, keeping her hand on the King’s arm. “Hm?”

“Your face.”

“Oh! What do you think happened?” She laughed.

“I would not even recognize our mutual friend if she did not have a black eye,” T’Challa joked, ruffling her hair.

She swatted his hand away, grinning up at him. “You should see the other guy.” She held up her right hand, illustratively, and it was a series of unusual colors, as well, and there was swelling between the knuckles. Okay, so she had at least seriously punched someone.

“I am sure that you taught him a lesson he will not soon forget.” T’Challa said, flashing her another toothy grin.

“Lyda,” Bucky persisted. Really, he just needed her to tell him that the fight hadn’t been with Chris. Sam said he didn’t do that, but still. 

She sighed, leaning sideways against T’Challa. “Bucky, it’s fine. My fault, even. I picked a fight in the subway.”

“You picked a fight?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Some jerk. It was necessary.” She nodded at him, raising her eyebrows, which he took to mean that it was fine and he should let it go. 

“Have you been checked out?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she rolled her eyes, “it’s fine.”

He shook his head, not really believing her but remembering Sam’s words.

_ She does not want or need help._

In fact, he was pretty sure Sam was looking at the back of his head at that very moment, thinking the same thing.

“Djesha, I’m fine,” she assured him, “I promise!” She turned to Sam. “I can handle myself, isn’t that right?”

He laughed. “Well, you’re not dead yet.”

Wanda was just watching the whole interaction, barely containing her amusement and shooting knowing glances at Sam.

Everyone finally dispersed, after that, and she set up her camera, reminding Bucky, as she had to every session, to take off his shirt.

Then came the fights, which she watched excitedly.

She swooned over Wanda, joked with Sam, tried to contain her... _ excitement _over Bucky’s personal brand of shirtless brutality, and paid rapt attention when he and T’Challa finally faced off. They were incredibly well matched, and through several rounds, neither successfully gained much ground against the other until T’Challa finally managed to get his claws to Bucky's throat. Bucky refused to tap out, but if he had moved, he would have died, so Sam called it. It was a fair win, and Bucky took the hand T’Challa offered to help him up.

Afterwards, they all went upstairs for lunch and T’Challa invited her to join.

“I don’t want to be in the way.”

“In the way of what, Lyda?” he teased.

“You know what I mean. I’m not exactly…” she gestured around to the group, “this.”

“It is lunch, my friend. Stop worrying about things you can not control.”

She smiled, pulling him into another hug. “Why do I argue with you? You’re always right. How’s Shuri?”

Bucky didn’t miss the way she folded her arm around T’challa’s as they all walked to the elevator or the way the two of them maintained such comfortable eye contact while they chatted. It was a stupid thing to be jealous of. If he was going to be jealous of anyone, _ and he shouldn’t,_ it should be her shitbag husband. That didn’t actually make him feel any better, of course. They had the ease about them of people who had been friends for a very long time. And they had, he reminded himself.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Sam asked over breadsticks. Bucky already knew, but he listened anyway.

“Lyda and I were classmates during her exchange at Oxford. She was the most brilliant scientist I had ever met.”

“Only because Shuri was 7 years old at the time,” she added, blushing, which looked funny on her badly bruised face.

“Then, a few years ago, I introduced the two of them and the rest was history.” 

“But Challa’s work was much more exciting than anything I was doing back then.” She turned her attention to him. “Whatever happened to your research about mitigating the neurological side effects of the techno-organic virus?”

Challa. Even in Wakanda, Bucky had never heard anyone call him Challa, but it just rolled off her tongue like it was nothing.

“It was extremely successful, and I was eventually able to prevent its spread to humans, as well. The addition of Vibranium has rendered it completely benign. Of course, that was only the strain we were working with, there is nothing we can yet do for the virus that is already in the population.”

“It’s still an amazing achievement.”

“Wait until you see the Techno-organic Jungle we have created in Wakanda.”

Her eyes widened and she smiled, wincing again and bringing a hand absent-mindedly up to her cheek. “You have my attention.”

He went on to explain to her that they had built a whole jungle full of techno-organic organisms within Wakanda, while Sam and Wanda, not totally sure what they were talking about, looked back and forth between them and Bucky, who was trying very hard not to crawl under the table and hide. He had gotten it in his mind that she was HIS friend, here to see HIM, but he didn’t seem to be the one he was paying attention to. Even when conversation evened out after that, Lydia’s attention remained split mostly between the Wakandan King and Wanda, who was smiling at her in a way Bucky didn’t like at all.

When they all went their separate ways, Lydia told him he couldn’t come by that night, she would be headed to Boston to see Chris’ family for Thanksgiving. He told her he couldn’t have come anyway, that he needed to pack to go to DC the next day. It wasn’t really true—he always had a go-bag ready—and he felt like shit lying, but his brain was squirming and he wasn’t thinking very clearly. Lunch had left him feeling weirdly empty. He went back to his apartment and sat on his couch without turning on the television.

He needed some introspection.

Since when was he jealous? He had never been a jealous guy. He had never had any reason. The old Bucky, pre-war ladies man, had been confident that anyone whose attention he wanted would eventually give it to him. Distractions were just that. Maybe it was because he no longer felt like the biggest prize in the room, or a prize at all, but jealousy was increasingly gnawing at him, especially where it concerned her. Uncomfortably, he reminded himself that T’Challa was her friend and if he had a problem with that, it was something he would have in common with her husband.

He pushed it from his head.

He had to get over it. Reminding himself of Chris was about as bad as it could get. Besides, he had no reason to be jealous. She was allowed to have other friends. She was even allowed to be attracted to people. None of it was any of his business.

Nope.

He puttered around his apartment listlessly for a while before going through a pile of library books, looking for something about Russian, and starting to read. He wasn’t retaining much of it, but it was a welcome distraction anyway. He ended up calling Steve and arranging to drive to DC that night instead of the next day. Maybe he could help make food or something—not that Peggy would let him. And maybe Steve would be able to give him some unhelpful old man advice. At least he would be able to keep busy and have other things to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated more than you even know!
> 
> Please tune in next week to see how Lydia handles Thanksgiving with her husband. What could go wrong?


	9. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm kind of excited about this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

Bucky texted her the next day.

**B: Happy Thanksgiving!**

It took her over an hour to reply.

**L: Happy Thanksgiving, Bucky! Please tell Steve I love him more than potatoes**

**B: High praise, will do**

** He said he loves you, too**

**L: Lol idk why that made it weird**

**B: Haha**

** I told him you said that and he actually called you a whippersnapper**

** Hahahahahaha**

**L: Lmfao**

After that, he didn’t hear from her all weekend, and he decided instead of waiting around for a married woman to pay attention to him and getting jealous when she paid attention to other people, maybe he should find something else to think about. This absurd pining wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Maybe, _maybe_, he should let Sam set him up on a date. He had been pushing to for months, and why not?

The date wouldn't be Lydia.

Good.

He called Sam and suddenly found himself with plans for a coffee date Sunday afternoon. It went horribly and she drank too much coffee and he was bored the whole time, but that didn’t really matter; he was putting himself back out there.

Then Monday came and Lydia wasn’t at training. And that evening, she wasn’t in her lab. He spent much of that night and the next day trying to quash the paranoia that maybe she had been hit by a car or something, but Tuesday night, when he found himself getting off the elevator in her lab again, she was there.

The sight he walked in to see was unusual, to say the least. All of the lights were off. One of the floor-to-ceiling panes of glass that made up the outer walls of the building was out of its frame, sitting at an angle, leaning against a metal support beam, and she was sitting on the edge of the floor with her legs hanging down over the city. If she moved wrong, it would be so easy for her to fall and die. She was smoking a cigarette and there was a pack of them open, sitting on the ground between her and a large, windblown pile of ash and butts. Her hair was tied in what appeared to be an actual knot behind her neck, and ran down her back, a little oily and a little tangled and a good amount longer than he realized. He knew she had heard the ding of the elevator arriving, but she didn’t move to acknowledge him and he found himself approaching her the way he would an injured animal. Cautiously. Quietly. Like she was going to jump up and bite out his throat.

“Those things’ll kill you, ya know,” he said quietly.

She laughed, looking at the cigarette for a second. “Promise?” She took another drag, still not turning to look at him. “Hi Bucky.”

He looked around the lab in the darkness and back to her. “How ya doin’?”

She sighed heavily and shrugged before dragging on her cigarette. “A little tired. You?”

“Can’t complain… can I sit?”

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do.”

He sat on the other side of the ash pile. He didn’t know what was going on, but he recognized her unfocused thousand-yard-stare well enough to know something was seriously wrong.

“Um… how’s your face?”

He couldn’t see it—the side of her face that had been black and blue on Wednesday was away from him.

“Healing up. I lost two teeth.”

“Jesus.”

“The asshole hit me with his briefcase,” she said, easily. “The corner of it, right here,” she pointed with her free hand to a spot which he still couldn’t see. “It’s fine, though. I saw the dentist yesterday. He’s going to hook me up with fake teeth that screw in. Of course, it’s gonna cost almost ten grand, but… I guess that’s what I get. At least I have good insurance.”

“What was he doing?”

“Who?”

“The guy with the briefcase.”

“Harassing some girl. I mean, it doesn’t matter. I did get him to stop, though.”

“It’s not your job to protect everyone, you know?”

She laughed. “Well, there were no Avengers in that particular subway car.”

“I mean it.”

“You know, 90 percent of the time when I stand up to assholes in the street, they don’t hit me.”

“But sometimes they do.” He shook his head. “God, you’re just like Steve.”

She chuckled. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“I don’t mean it that way.”

“Rude.” She huffed a laugh.

“If Steve hadn’t become Captain America, sooner or later, in one back alley or another, someone would have killed him. You get that, right? You’re not a super soldier. You can’t keep putting yourself in this position.”

She finally turned to face him, her formerly blue-purple face now mostly yellow and green. It looked awful but she was still just… stunning, staring at him in the muted light floating up from the street. She put out her cigarette, lighting another. “Have you ever heard of the Bystander Effect?”

“No.”

“Mh. Well, it’s a psychological phenomenon, that basically says everyone who observes someone who needs help shares the responsibility to do something, so the more observers there are, the less responsibility any one observer feels. So, like... if your car breaks down on an empty stretch of road, and one car passes by every twenty minutes, you’re more likely to get help from one of those cars than if it’s a busy interstate, because on the interstate the responsibility is so diffused that nobody feels like they have to help.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Isn’t it? There was this one case where a woman got murdered and something like a dozen people in a nearby building heard or saw some part of it, and none of them called the cops, because they all figured someone else would handle it. They didn’t want to get involved. It’s fucking…” she coughed, “It’s awful. When I first heard about it, I promised myself that I would never be that person who didn’t help someone, just because there were other people around. I couldn’t live with myself. It sounds stupidly self-righteous, but I just...”

He sighed. “You’re a good person, Doc. You’re probably going to spend your whole life paying for it.”

She smiled at him, finishing her cigarette and putting it out. She lit another and they sat in silence for several minutes before she said “Chris and I are getting divorced.”

“Oh, Lyd… I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sorry that it was happening, but he was sorry it was happening to her.

“Don’t be. He’s an asshole.”

He laughed. “You’re right.”

She flopped back onto the floor, lying there with her legs still hanging out over the street. “Bucky, what am I doing with my life?”

The sight of her sprawled out on her back, hair a mess, did wicked things to his brain but now wasn’t the time. It was maybe less _ the time _ than ever.

“You are… building cool machines for superheroes and the occasional former international terrorist.”

“You have to stop calling yourself that.”

“When it stops being true.”

“Who gives a shit who you were _formerly_? You’re an Avenger now.”

“Oh, you might be surprised how many people care.”

“How many?”

“Like, almost all of them.”

She flicked her cigarette back into her lab, still smoldering. There was nothing flammable on this side of the walls, it would be fine. “Well, people are stupid and I hate them.”

“No, you don’t.”

She reached for another cigarette and he plucked the pack right out of her hand.

“Oh, come on, fuck you.”

“I am extremely interested in you not getting cancer.”

“It’s none of your business if I want to get cancer! I’m an adult!”

He sighed, giving them back to her and she snatched them, holding them on her chest as she laid back down but not opening the pack. They were silent for another minute before she said “I was such a shitty wife. I mean, he was a shitty husband, but it wasn’t all on him.”

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”

“No, I really was. I worked all the time. And even when I was home, I didn’t want to do anything with him.”

“Because he’s shitty!”

“Yeah, but also… I don’t know, maybe I’m too married to my job to be in a relationship. I don’t even remember why people want relationships.”

He let that sentiment hang in the air for a few seconds before deciding he didn’t want to keep his dating thing a secret from her.

“That reminds me, I went on a date, Sunday.”

“And was she the one? Are you getting married?” She said it so sarcastically that despite the bitterness in her voice, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“It was awful, actually. She was nervous and she kept drinking expressos.”

“Espressos.”

“What?”

“It’s _espresso_, not _expresso_.”

He laughed. “Whatever it is, she had like 7, and she was so hyper she was shaking like a chihuahua and she kept having to leave to use the restroom.”

“Ooh, yeah, that’s unfortunate.”

“I mean, it didn’t seem like we had anything in common, anyway, but I’m trying to… put myself out there.”

“Well, good luck, because people are terrible and relationships are terrible.”

“They don’t have to be.” He sighed, looking around and once again catching sight of the pane of glass that should be where they were sitting. “Not to change the subject, but I didn’t know these wall panels came out.”

“They don’t. I may have had to… coerce the frame a little.”

“Will you be able to put it back?”

“I mean, probably. I’m, like, really smart.”

He laughed and another couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence ensued.

“Hey, have you eaten?” he ventured. “Wanna order Chinese?”

She immediately sat up, eyes going wide as she looked at him. “Oh my god, can we go get Junior’s Cheesecake?”

“Real food.”

“Fuck you and your real food. I’m having a bad day and my dinner is going to be cigarettes and cheesecake. Do you want to come?”

She was already getting up, so he got up too.

“Sure, why not.”

“Yes! Best day ever. I mean… you know what I mean. It’s like, way over near Times Square, though.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I don’t have anywhere to be tonight.”

She swept up the pile of cigarette debris, he helped her wrestle the wall back into place, and they left. It was about half an hour’s walk, and they didn’t rush it, taking the route Google suggested and going through the park. Lydia spent a while venting about how terrible Thanksgiving with Chris had been, and how the text from Bucky had been the best part of her day, and he told her about how the city had changed since the 40s. When they got there, she spent like $70 on cheesecake, getting individual slices of several different flavors for them to share, and one slice of New York style each. “I’m not sharing this one,” she clarified. It took both of them to carry the bags back (actually, he could have carried them all, but she insisted), and they stopped for a while in the park, sitting down on a bench to eat.

“So, Bucky, I need to talk to you about your arm… actually, it’s not your arm. Does it bother you having a chest full of Nazi-grade stainless steel?”

He took a bite of cheesecake, considering it. “I mean, sometimes Sam sticks magnets to me, which gets annoying, but I don’t actually think about it very much. I guess it would be nice to have the last traces of Hydra out of my system. Why, where’s that brain of yours running with this?”

“I don’t want to get you too excited, here, because I can’t make any promises, but there’s a Doctor who can regrow damaged or missing tissue in a matter of hours. And the best part is, she’s worked with the Avengers before! It was her technology that created Vision. I was initially hopeful that she could regrow your whole arm, which it turns out is a no-go, but I think she could definitely replace all of the muscle and bone that Hydra cut out, up to the shoulder, so we would just be using the ball and socket as an attachment point. I mean, we would need a consult with her, to see what she thinks is feasible, but… is that something you would be interested in?”

“Are you kidding me? Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, absolutely, this…” he cut himself off, taking a bite of his cheesecake, and continuing with his mouth full, “this is amazing!”

“Right? Oh, awesome! I’m so glad we’re on the same page. I’ll call her first thing tomorrow. No promises, though, like I said, it’s all going to be up to what she thinks she can do, I just thought…” she trailed off. He was smiling at her while he chewed and it made her heart flutter. “So, Junior’s. Best cheesecake in the world?”

“Holy shit, yes.” He laughed, clawing at it with his fork. “Katie’s going to kill me, but I have no regrets.”

They chatted and laughed on that bench until almost one in the morning before making their way back to the tower.

“So, where ya headed, Doc? Not sleeping in your lab, I hope?”

“Actually, I’m going to be living here. They have little one-room efficiencies that the staff scientists can rent. I guess Tony Stark understood sleeping at work better than anyone.”

“No shit? Alright. I guess I’m walking you home, then.”

She laughed. “Just to my floor. And you have to take the rest of the cheesecake, I don’t have room in my fridge.”

“Well, if you insist, I guess I can bear that burden.”

They exchanged their goodbyes in the elevator and she stepped off a few floors before him, jumping back in to give him a brief hug and thank him for putting up with her on a bad day. Arms full of bags of cheesecake, he hugged her back, not caring that she reeked of smoke.

She stood in the hall, smiling at him, until the doors started to close and he yelled out “come to training tomorrow, Bruce will be there!”

She got out most of “I will!” before the doors shut and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re enjoying! I really liked writing this chapter. Thank you so much for reading. Comments are appreciated more than you know!


	10. (This chapter was a hiatus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to delete this chapter, but I decided to keep it up, both to preserve the very kind comments people left and so you could see the "UPDATE" I'm adding to the bottom.

Apologies, but with the extremely justified civil unrest currently going on, my heart just isn’t in this story right now.

Honestly, a short break feels right.

**Lydia would be out at a protest anyway.**

Stay safe, hydrate, and do what you can to support the black community.

To borrow a monologue from Civil War, which borrowed it from the comic:

**“Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say, 'No, you move'.”**

...

I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.

* * *

UPDATE:

Okay, so I just wanted to thank those who left comments on this chapter and to add something. When I was at one of the protests, I saw someone holding a pretty unusual sign that I thought you might appreciate (I certainly got excited about it). Luckily, the woman holding it allowed me to take a picture.

Надежда умирает последней.

Hope dies last.

Now, let's get back to this story, shall we?


	11. Hulk Smash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been about a month and this weekend is Steve Rogers' birthday, so I figure it's time to start posting again. If you haven't seen the update to the Chapter 10/hiatus thing, please check it out.
> 
> Enjoy.

Lydia winced as Bruce slammed Bucky down onto the sparring mat, face first. It looked more painful every time it happened, but he kept getting back up.

“Do you need a break?” Bruce offered, as Bucky peeled himself off the mat. The only reply he got was a glare, as Bucky faked him out, slipping behind him and punching the back of one of his knees, knocking him halfway down. He caught himself with one hand, swatting behind him with the other, which threw Bucky about ten feet.

“I have the data I need,” Lydia yelled, as though that would stop him. She knew it wouldn’t, of course. She had never seen him admit defeat, no matter how a fight was going. She had seen Wanda and T’Challa both beat him, but both times someone else had to tell him it was over.

They fought for a couple more minutes before Bruce, apparently concerned for Bucky, ended it. He simply knocked Bucky down (again), announced that it was over, and walked off the mat. Lydia ran out to help Bucky up and he let her, though he looked a little bitter about it. He got up with some effort, draping a very sweaty arm over her shoulders and leaning on her, limping over to the wall.

“Djesha, you’re allowed to tap out.”

It took him a few seconds to catch his breath enough to reply. “Fake fights are practice for real fights and if you tap out in those, you die.”

“If you refuse to tap out, you also die. He’s the hulk, for fuck’s sake. If he forgot to pull a punch, he would break you in half.”

He laughed and it turned into a cough. “I’m not that fragile.”

“Neither are you invulnerable,” she huffed, helping him ease down onto a bench, “and I’m pretty sure he bent some of your subcutaneous plates. Do you want me to look?”

“Nah, I’m fine. They’ll be coming out soon anyway, thanks to you.” He regretted saying no immediately, but it was too late. Oh well. He did enjoy the proximity when she… inspected him? That didn’t feel like the way to say it, but it was true. The opposite was also true, he realized, eyes falling on her healing forehead as he remembered bandaging it.

“I said no promises!” she interrupted his train of thought. “I expect to hear from Dr. Cho tonight, we’ll see what she says.”

“Doc, if you say it’ll work, I believe you.”

“Well, I’m not a geneticist, and it’s never been done on a super soldier so…” she sighed, repeating “we’ll see what she says. Besides, even if she can do it, it’ll have to wait until your new arm’s ready. The current model needs all that metal as an anchor.”

“Lyda.”

“I’m just saying, it could be a while, so if anything is bent or broken, we should probably go ahead and fix it.”

He grinned at her, pushing a piece of hair out of his face. “Will it make you feel better to look?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, go ahead,” he replied, trying not to sound like that was exactly what he wanted.

He was sitting on the bench with his knees spread wide and she bent almost double to look at his abdomen, as he leaned back a little to give her a better view. She grumbled, looking back over her shoulder at the lights and then she dropped down to her knees between her legs.

“There we go. Getting out of my own light.”

She glanced up at his face for a fraction of a second, visibly blushing, before busying herself with looking at his abdomen.

He suddenly forgot how to act natural—what did he usually do with his hands?! Did he always flex his muscles or was it just now? How often did a person normally breathe?—The sight of her on her knees in front of him, an image he might possibly have constructed in his head once or twice, was going to cause an anatomical problem if he couldn’t keep it together.

_ You can do this, Buck. Think about Hydra. Catcher in the Rye. Literally anything except… _

He took an involuntary shuddered breath and she looked back up at him with concern, apparently taking the noise for an expression of pain.

“Where does it hurt?”

It hurt everywhere, but he pointed below his ribs on the left side, before looking up to catch a glimpse of Sam, quietly cracking up on the far side of the room.

“May I?” She indicated that she wanted to touch the area he had pointed to, and he remembered her doing the same thing before she had initially touched his shoulder.

“Yes, Lyd,” he said, trying to sound dismissive. “You gonna ask every time you ever touch me?”

Her blush grew a little deeper but she was adamantly looking at his abdomen, and she started to crawl her fingers across his skin, pressing gently.

“Probably. This isn’t Hydra, we do consent here. And since when do you call me Lyd? You’ve been talking to Sam too m…” she paused, her fingers lingering on one patch of skin. She alternated pressing a little to the right and a little to the left. “Can you feel this?”

“No.”

“Mh.” She kept doing it for another second before moving on to inspect the rest of the area.

“What is it?”

She didn’t look up or stop her prodding.

“Something is moving that shouldn’t. Either something came dislodged or…” her fingers lingered somewhere else, “take a deep breath?”

He did.

She shook her head and continued, “either something came dislodged or a plate broke. Though, as far as I can tell, it was just the one, which is… honestly amazing for the beating you took.” She smoothed her hand over the area she had been looking at for just a moment, smiling up at him, then putting her hands on his knees and pushing herself up to a standing position. He took a slow breath.

_ Cold showers. Lame books. Say, Catcher in the Rye had a prostitute in it… _

“Um…” he shook the thoughts out of his head, “how long can I ignore it?”

She sighed. “Well, you gave me my cigarettes back, so I guess I have no right to make you take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, but the difference is, I’ll listen to you.”

Her mouth fell open in mock-outrage. “Um, excuse you, I didn’t smoke any more of them, did I?”

“Not while I was there.”

She grinned, waving dismissively. “I didn’t.”

“Alright then. Is this something that needs addressing?”

She thought for a moment. “Let’s get a scan and see exactly what’s going on in there and we’ll act accordingly. If there are no jagged edges and it’s not connected to anything important… I’d rather not pull your skin up unnecessarily.”

“It’s fine, if you have to.”

“Well, I’d rather not. I’ll call the imaging lab and see when they can get you in.”

She pulled out her phone, walking away toward another corner of the room. He watched her talk and pace and gesture at nothing until Sam came over, grinning from ear to ear.

“Down boy,” Sam whispered.

“Hey, I kept it together way better than most guys would,” Bucky hissed back.

“Not a high bar, but good for you.”

“Hey, let’s get Jake from facilities management to kneel between your legs and see how you do.”

Sam laughed quietly and Lydia turned back to face them, yelling “Can you do this afternoon?”

Bucky nodded at her, giving a thumbs-up.

“Fine,” Sam concluded. “Just saying.”

“You’re terrible… she’s coming back.”

“Oh, I’m suddenly needed over there.” Sam walked away, back toward the water cooler and Bruce, and Bucky laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, approaching.

“Just… Sam. So, same day, huh? Now I see who has the power around here.”

“Someone owed me a favor.”

“And you used it on this?” he laughed, glancing at the clock. Almost 11. “So, what time are we on for, Doc?”

“1 PM.”

“Well, I’d better go clean up, then.”

She looked… disappointed? “Oh! Okay, yeah.”

“No?”

“No, you’re right, of course. I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch, but it would probably be rude to show up all…” she glanced down at his chest and turned pink again, “sweaty.”

He beamed up at her. “Well, it won’t take me two hours to shower and god knows you don’t eat real food if you’re not supervised, so… give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

“Supervised?”

“You heard me.”

She shook her head at him, laughing. “Just for that, I’m going to eat only Twizzlers.”

He laughed too. “Twenty minutes?”

“Fine. I’ll see you in the lobby.”

They smiled at each other for another couple of seconds and she headed for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I have the next chapter more or less ready to go, so expect it Monday or Tuesday. As always, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.


	12. The Hoodie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to go back to posting once a week, probably Monday or Tuesday. Just... FYI, I don't know.

They met in the lobby and then walked around a bit in the brisk, early-December air, debating where to go for food.

“How is it so much colder than it was last night?” she asked, rubbing her arms.

“It’s not that much colder. I just don’t think you could feel it yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“When people get upset or excited, their brains prioritize other things over physical comfort.” He shrugged. “It’s probably how you forget to eat all the time.”

“Or it’s just colder. Like, I know it’s December, but...” she shivered slightly.

“Can I offer you my hoodie?”

She scoffed. “You can, but I’m going to decline.”

“Lyda, I’m not cold.”

“No, because you’re wearing a hoodie!” She laughed. “Besides, it looks like you’re in a tee shirt, so if you take your hoodie off, people are going to see your arm. I know that bothers you.”

He shrugged casually. “I can handle it.”

“And I can handle a little bit of coldness. It’s honestly not even that bad. You know, hypothermia doesn’t even come into play until the body drops down to like 95 degrees and that takes longer than—”

“Will you let me be a gentleman,” he unzipped it and started to pull it off, “and just take it?” He held it out to her.

She looked at it but kept walking. “Nope. This isn’t the forties and it’s not men’s job to take care of poor, shaky little women folk. You have exactly as much right to be comfortable as I…”

“It’s not the forties, but I'm old-timey. Humor me. You know I run warmer than you do, anyway.”

“That just means that the air feels even colder to you, by comparison.”

“Well, I’m not putting it back on, so you might as well take it.”

“We’ll freeze together.”

He laughed, muttering “... such a brat.”

Before she even registered that he had moved, he draped it over her shoulders and kept walking.

She stopped for a moment and made a soft, little sound of pleasure at the feel of the still-warm fabric on her bare arms. He looked back over his shoulder, grinning at her, and she huffed, running a few paces to catch up.

“Promise you won’t be cold?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re really not freaked out by your…” her voice dropped to a whisper “arm?”

“I’m really not.”

She didn’t believe him, but she pulled the sleeves onto her arms and pulled the hoodie closed over her chest, shivering again as the residual coldness faded. They walked a couple more blocks before settling on a gyro truck and then they made their way back to the tower, talking while they ate their food, which had too much sauce on it and was delicious.

She kept his hoodie on as they went down to imaging and got his scans done. Every time he caught sight of her, he smiled involuntarily. Despite being almost as tall as he was, she had a pretty narrow frame that caused the sweatshirt to hang around her like a tent. The shoulders were so wide that they fell halfway down her arms and that made the sleeves seem longer, so that her fingers barely peeked out of the ends. It took everything in him not to tell her she looked adorable, but he was pretty sure that even if it had been an appropriate thing to say, which it wasn’t, she would not have taken “adorable” as a compliment.

She paced as they waited for results and her attention snapped to the tech when he returned.

“Well?”

“Displaced, not broken. I’ll have to defer to you as to whether that piece is important.”

He handed Lydia the scans and she held them up to the light, grumbling. 

“This place has me so spoiled. Is a 3D render forthcoming? It’s hard to tell from…”

“Yeah, it’s compiling. I’ll have Friday forward it to you as soon as it’s ready.”

“Thanks.” She was still looking at the scans. “Can I take these?”

“Yeah, they’re backed up.”

Lydia nodded, sighing and putting them under her arm. She shook the tech’s hand and Bucky followed her out of the room and down the hall, pulling his shirt on.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked, finally noticing the grin he couldn’t manage to put away.

“Nothing. Um… first impression?” he asked.

“I don’t think it’s worth surgery, but I’ll let you know.”

“If it is, it is. No big deal.”

“How the hell did you make it through all the shit they did to you without developing an aversion to unnecessary medical procedures?”

“Easy, I just trust you. What was it you said this morning? This isn’t Hydra? Consent and all that? I know you won’t suggest it unless it’s important.”

She smiled and shook her head. “And here I thought you had trust issues.”

“Me? Now who told you that?” He laughed. “But seriously, was it Sam? I knew I shouldn’t trust that guy.”

She chuckled as they got to the end of the hall and she hit the elevator call button.

“So, should I come by tonight?” he ventured. “I’ll bring the one slice of cheesecake I didn’t polish off.”

“Mm, that depends on what kind it is.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?”

“I know, they’ll only have it for another week or so, eat it while you can.”

“Um… well, I’ll see you then. Hopefully we’ll hear back from Dr. Cho and everything will be good.”

They got into the elevator together and rode up in silence and he opted not to bring the hoodie up as she stepped off into her lab.

“See you later!”

“Bye, Lyda!”

The elevator doors closed.

* * *

When he came by that evening, cheesecake in hand, she practically jumped on him in excitement and he actually managed to hug her back, this time, before she let go of him and pulled away, beaming. He couldn’t help but return the smile, both because of her unusually animated demeanor and at the general sight of her, cheek and hand still bruised, forehead still healing, still wearing his hoodie—though she had rolled the sleeves up.

“She’s gonna do it!” she squealed.

“Who’s gonna do what?”

“Dr. Cho! Well, she’s gonna try, but she seemed really confident. She’s ready to fly out as soon as next week to do some proof-of-concept testing! Isn’t that amazing?!”

“Well, this calls for some celebratory cheesecake.”

“I can’t believe how smoothly everything is going; this never happens.”

“Only because you’re the one orchestrating it.” He opened the cheesecake container and handed it to her and she broke off a piece with her fingers, popping it into her mouth.

“You’re giving me too much credit.” She licked her fingertips.

“Callin’ it like I see it. Do you want a fork?”

She sighed dramatically. “I mean, yeah, I guess. You’re such an adult. Hold on…”

She gave him the cheesecake and walked out of the room and he yelled after her “Aren’t you like thirty?”

She returned with two forks, handing him one and not replying.

They ate the cheesecake and a couple of protein bars and chatted, then spent a while reviewing footage of that morning’s fight, with her pointing out where she thought the plate came loose. Avoiding his gaze, she pointed out that she didn’t really need any more footage, so there was no reason for her to keep coming to training. He considered, for maybe the hundredth time, suggesting that she should keep coming and he should teach her how to fight, so maybe she wouldn’t get her ass kicked so much, but he didn’t quite get up the nerve to say it out loud. That stalled the conversation a bit, but when they picked it back up, they ended up talking late into the night, yet again.

When he left, he promised he would leave her alone for the rest of the week so she could get actual work done and she did her best to hide her disappointment. She wouldn’t come to his training, he wouldn't come to her lab, they just… wouldn’t see each other. Only for a few days, of course. It wasn’t really so dramatic.

She hated it anyway.

They agreed to meet the following Tuesday, when Dr. Cho would be coming by to assess Bucky’s candidacy for tissue regeneration. They exchanged their goodbyes in Russian and he left. She wrapped her arms around herself, breathing in the familiar smell of him and feeling a fleeting urge to cry. She didn’t even know why. The divorce, probably. Whatever it was, she was glad Bucky had forgotten to ask for the hoodie back. It was warm and brought her some kind of comfort, not just physically.

She glared at her computer for a couple of minutes before turning it off and getting up. It was late and she was calling it quits for the night. There was no way she was getting any more work done, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm so grateful that people are taking the time to engage with this story. Your kudos are appreciated and your comments make my fucking day.


	13. You Look Like Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Late Tuesday morning, Bucky showed up at the basement level that they had somehow wedged the Regeneration Cradle into. Lydia was already there, hanging on an attractive Korean woman’s every word as she showed her the inner workings of the machine. When Bucky got off the elevator, they both turned to look at him and smiled. Lydia… looked awful. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was deathly pale. Her posture was, somehow, worse than normal. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as the other woman immediately approached him and introduced herself.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’m Dr. Helen Cho, it’s an honor to work with you.”

She extended a hand, which he shook, uncomfortably.

“Hey, the pleasure’s mine. You’re doin’ me a favor. And please, call me Bucky.”

She blushed slightly, letting go of his hand. “Then you should call me Helen.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Don’t trust him,” Lydia called over her shoulder, once again craning over the machine.

“Hey, I got there, _ Lydia_!” He emphasized the last word, mockingly, and she laughed.

Dr. Cho explained the process to him. Simple enough: a local anesthetic, a small tissue biopsy, and then her machine would patch the hole. They didn’t even have to put him to sleep or anything, though Dr. Cho clarified that they would put him under for the actual procedure, since removing the plates would be a major surgery.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting shirtless and wincing (okay, he probably should have told them that anesthetic doesn’t work on super soldiers) as Dr. Cho took the biopsy.

“That shouldn’t hurt,” she stated, matter-of-factly.

“No, it’s all good,” he lied.

From there, it was into the cradle, while Dr. Cho clicked away at her computer and Lydia paced nervously beside him.

“Hey, Lyda?”

She walked up to the cradle, looking down at him with concerned eyebrows. “I think you’re supposed to keep still. Everything okay?”

“He can talk,” Helen piped up.

He made a face at Lydia and she laughed loudly. “Okay, what’s up?”

He looked her over again and hesitated before saying “Ты ужасно выглядишь.” {You look like shit.}

She scowled playfully at him. “Спасибо, ты тоже.” {Thanks, you too.}

He grumbled. “Я серьезно. Ты цел?” {I’m serious. Are you okay?”}

She sighed, leaning sideways against the cradle. “Да, я просто устала.” {Yeah, I’m just tired.}

“Почему?” {Why?}

“Мы поговорим позже.” {We’ll talk later.}

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She smiled weakly, nodding at him. “How about you? Doing alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Keeping busy. Well, not _ busy._ Had another date this weekend.”

“Oh yeah? Espresso girl?”

He laughed quietly. “No, someone asked me out, believe it or not.”

She was groggily watching the machine patch up the little hole they had cut, near his ribs. “Well, you’re an Avenger. I feel like that probably happens all the time.”

“Maybe to the others. Women aren’t exactly—”

“I swear to god,” she interrupted him, “if you’re about to call yourself a former international terrorist—”

“I’m just…”

“—I will literally punch you.”

“Oh, come on, you wouldn’t hit a guy in a regeneration cradle, would you?”

“Try me.”

He laughed. “It’s gonna hurt your hand more than it hurts me.”

“Worth it.”

“Someone is grumpy and needs a nap.”

She didn’t respond, but just shook her head.

“And what if I don’t consent to being punched?” he continued.

She grinned, shaking her head again. “Fuck. You got me.”

“This isn’t Hydra, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You win. So, how was your date?”

A broad smile spread across his face and his eyes twinkled and she felt a dull pain in her stomach. “It was good. I think we’re going out again this weekend.”

She stared at him for a couple of seconds before saying “Oh?” She didn’t really want to know more, but no other words were coming to her.

“Yeah, she’s nice. Works at the library. She had been recommending books for me every week and I guess we just… I don’t know, we clicked.”

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was just a deep desire not to believe him, but she couldn’t wrap her brain around what he was saying. It took her a moment to manage an unconvincing “Well, that’s great, Bucky. Good for you.”

“What can I say? I was always a lucky bastard.”

“Except that one time,” she replied. As soon as she said it, she realized that it sounded meaner than she had meant. Bringing up Hydra was just… shitty. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Can’t win ‘em all.”

She laughed weakly and then they remained silent until the procedure was finished. When the machine slowed to a stop and Dr. Cho confirmed that they were good to go, Lydia helped him out of the cradle (he didn’t need her help, but she offered a hand and he took it) and examined the patched area.

“I honest-to-god can’t even tell where it is,” she said quietly.

Dr. Cho shot her a well-practiced, professional smile. “And if everything goes as planned, you never will. Bucky, please move around. Stretch. How does it feel?”

He twisted side to side and stretched, reaching for the ceiling, before replying “feels normal.”

“Excellent. You will need to monitor the area for 72 hours for signs of rejection, but I believe everything worked as prescribed. Now it will be up to Dr. Russell to fabricate your new limb.” She looked expectantly at Lydia, who nodded.

“Actually, I have a prototype ready to test.”

Bucky’s attention snapped to her and his eyes went wide. “What? Since when?”

She flashed him an exhausted-looking smile. “Finished it last night. Not an exact model, which makes me a little uncomfortable, but for us to test it, it has to be able to fit into your existing shoulder apparatus, so I made some… anyway, we can try it out when you have some time. No hurry.”

“Это почему ты устала?” {Is that why you’re tired?} he asked quietly.

“Нет.” {No.}

“Правда?” {Really?}

She sighed. “Может быть.” {Maybe.}

“Лида.” {Lida.}

“Oh, stop it. You sound like my mother. Всё хорошо.” {Everything is fine.}

“There was no hurry.”

“The sooner we go to testing, the sooner the final product’s ready, the sooner the metal comes out.”

He shook his head. “Can we go see it now?”

Lydia looked to Dr. Cho. “What else do you need from us?”

She had been watching their conversation with some interest and seemed surprised when they turned to her. “Oh! Just data. Let me know how it’s doing in 72 hours and…”

Lydia waited for a second before snapping “And?”

“Can I see the arm?”

* * *

Half an hour later, they were all up in Lydia’s lab. She had just helped Bucky remove the Wakandan arm and was installing her prototype, going over how they had resolved the Newtonian problem and all the ways that this was different than her finished product would be.

“So, obviously, the real thing will go all the way up to the shoulder and meet the skin where it ends, which will be more or less where the metal currently goes underneath, am I right?”

Dr. Cho nodded.

“I just didn’t want to tear up the shoulder anchor for a test. Well, obviously. And vibranium can’t be reshaped, so rather than using it for the prototype—not that Shuri wouldn’t have given it to me, if I had asked for it, but it just seemed wasteful—I’m using aluminum. Slightly heavier than vibranium, but for a test I figured… and, of course, that meant I had to add a power source, so I’ve made a little arc reactor that we can temporarily slot into your shoulder.”

“An arc reactor?” Dr. Cho perked up.

“Yeah, I know, it’s very _ Stark Enterprises _ of me,” she scowled, “but I didn’t have room to use a fusion—”

“Is that the same kind that powered the Iron Man suit?” she pressed.

“Uh… yeah. The latest one. Starknium core.”

“How much caffeine have you had?” Bucky butted in.

“The right amount,” she replied flatly. “Now, Djesha… Bucky, I rigged up a little patch, where can I stick it?”

She held up what looked like a nicotine patch.

“What’s it do?” he asked.

“Oh, well, it’s temporary. For neural access, the arm needs to be actually connected to your anatomy somewhere and since the current anchor is completely non-anatomical, I figured…” They shrugged at each other and she handed him the patch. He stuck it to the bicep of his other arm and she reached over and switched on the arc reactor’s circuit.

“Okay, now this is weird, but hear me out…” she said, giving him what he thought might be her first genuine smile of the day. “Look at me, not down. Blinders on, okay?” He smiled back at her and nodded slightly and she was suddenly aware of the stormy pale-blue of his eyes. She had never noticed before and she didn’t mean to mention it but she was tired and it slipped out. “You have really pretty eyes, Djesha.”

His smile got broader and he huffed a little laugh, opening his mouth to respond but not getting anything out before she found her train of thought.

“Um… now I need you to conceptualize that you have two perfectly normal arms. Do you think you can do that?” Even as she spoke, the metal plates carefully laid out on the counter beside him were drawn up into the force field and coalesced into the shape of an arm. She never broke eye contact, but she was aware of it happening. “Can you feel your arms? Your hands? Wiggle your fingers.” Dr. Cho gasped, but neither Bucky nor Lydia broke eye contact. He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed quietly. “Stop that. Okay, now I’m going to back up a few paces and you’re keeping your eyes on me, got it?”

“You’re bossy,” he teased.

“I prefer to think of myself as authoritative.”

“Fine. Blinders on.”

“There you go.” She took a few steps back, digging around in her pocket and pulling out her eye loup. “Okay, I’m gonna throw something and I need you to catch it with your left hand, dig it?”

“Dig it?” He laughed “Do people say that?”

“Oh, shut up. Will you catch it or not?”

“Go ahead.”

She tossed the little cylinder and he snatched it out of the air without even thinking about it. She beamed, raising her arms in a gesture of victory and Dr. Cho clapped.

“Fucking yes!” Lydia exclaimed. “You can look. How’s it feel?”

He looked down at the loup in his hand and then at the hand itself, turning it over and back, flexing his fingers and then his forearm.

“It’s… it’s bizarre.”

“I’m gonna need more information. Good bizarre or bad bizarre?”

“Good bizarre! I’m barely aware of it… but in the way that you’re supposed to be barely aware of your arms.” He tossed the loup into the air and caught it again before throwing it back to her and she fumbled with it and dropped it. He laughed as she bent to pick it up.

“Bold of you to assume I can catch.”

“Sorry.”

Dr. Cho walked up to him, bending to get a closer look at the plates of his arm. She ran her finger across them and he jumped. It really felt like being touched. He almost thought he could feel tiny arm hairs moving. She jumped too, at his reaction.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said, stepping back.

“No, it’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“What does it feel like?”

He looked down at it again. “Like being touched on the arm.”

“Amazing. Beautiful work, Dr. Russell.”

“I can’t take credit for the sensory programming,” Lydia immediately replied, “that was all Shuri. She had to map your brain to get the Hydra mess out and she used that data to make some improvements.”

Bucky couldn’t stop smiling. “Lyda, I don’t deserve you two. Do I have to put the other one back on?”

“Well, this is just the first prototype and yes, but not yet. There are a lot of tests to run, if you’re up for it.”

“Are _ you _ up for it?” he shot back. “I can come back later if you wanna take a nap or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll go grab my Red Bull and I’m good to go.” She immediately turned on her heel and disappeared in the direction of her office.

“That shit’s poison,” he called after her.

She returned seconds later, drinking it as she walked. “Mh. All men must die.”

“I can tell that’s a reference to something, but I don’t know what.”

“Nobody has made you watch Game of Thrones? Okay, that’s insane, but we’ll deal with it later. So, testing?” She took another sip and put the can down on one of her workbenches.

“I can stay,” Dr. Cho said quietly, to no one in particular.

“Fine.” Bucky grinned, his attention still on Lydia. “Does it have a plasma canon?”

“Yes. And please don’t fire it in here.”

“Oh, come on,” he laughed, “you’re gonna give me a plasma canon and I can’t even try it out?”

“Oh, you totally can and I actually need you to, but not in my lab. I’ll get us some time in the HEP range.”

He pouted. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are hugely appreciated.


	14. What's the alternative?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one's a little short, but the next one will be a little long, so I hope you bear with me.

Dr. Cho stayed a couple more hours, but Bucky and Lydia spent almost the whole day running tests. Everything from strength to fine motor control to, yes, the plasma cannon, which Bucky enjoyed way too much. It wasn’t until Lydia literally fell asleep on her keyboard that they called it a day. He woke her up just long enough to get her help swapping the arms out before walking her back to her apartment and convincing her to go to sleep.

* * *

December went quickly after that, with Lydia updating the prototype constantly. Bucky came by her lab a couple times a week, both to test the arm and to socialize and eat, but she felt like it was less often than it had been. Maybe she had just been spoiled by attending his training sessions or maybe, she couldn’t help but think, he was too distracted by Alicia—that was the librarian’s name—to hang out with her. Sometimes Lydia could almost forget about her but she inevitably came up and the smile on Bucky’s face when he spoke about her made Lydia hurt in a way she had hoped she was no longer capable of. It wasn’t fair to hold it against him—she knew that. She wanted him to be happy and it wasn’t like she would have had a chance with him, even if he had been single. Even if she wasn’t married.

It still hurt.

Before long, Christmas was a week away and she didn’t have an answer when, over pints of fried rice, Bucky asked her about her plans. She stammered for a few seconds before he took a bite and offered “gonna go visit your dad?”

_ Why—WHY did she find it so cute when he talked with his mouth full? _

She sighed. “Uh, no. Unfortunately we had a… falling out, a few years ago. I’m not invited to Christmas anymore.”

He balked. “You’re not invited to your own family’s Christmas?”

“No, it’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“I know, I just… so, my grandfather—Dyeda, my mother’s father—and my uncle had a whole history with the Starks. Like… well, Tony Stark killed my Uncle Ivan. I mean, not for no reason. There was some serious bad blood over the patent for the arc reactor and Stark Senior had Dyeda deported to Russia and then when he died, the whole thing escalated. Then Mama died pissed at me for working here and now Dad and Dima are never going to forgive me, so…” She shrugged and took a bite of rice.

“Well… shit.”

“I know, it’s a lot. And you probably shouldn’t go around telling people I'm a Vanko? I mean, Pepper knows. But, honestly, I don’t get the big deal, at this point. Dyeda and Uncle Ivan and Tony Stark are all dead, now, you’d think it would be over.”

“So, it’s been years since you’ve had a family Christmas?” He looked horrified by the idea.

“Well, no, I had been celebrating with Chris’s family. Even during the blip—his parents love me. At least, they did. But… well, obviously, that’s not really an option this year.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna sit in your apartment by yourself? Come on.”

She huffed, picking at her rice with her chopsticks. “What’s the alternative?”

“Come to Steve’s with me,” he said, easily.

Her eyes shot up to him. “What?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be in DC with Steve and Peggy. You should come.”

“I can’t just… I don't want to impose.”

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his rice. “You know Steve loves you, right?”

She shook her head. “Okay, well, there’s liking someone and then there’s inviting them to your house for Christmas. And I definitely can’t afford a hotel in DC right now.”

“They have four guest rooms and he’d enjoy seeing you.”

“Well…” she stammered, “what about their son? And the grandkids?”

“Charlie and Beth and the kids are celebrating with her family in Arizona this year.”

“Djesha, I don’t… I would honestly love to go, but it would make more work for them and… won’t Alicia be there? Not that I don’t make a delightful fifth wheel, but…”

“Alicia, who I’ve been dating for a couplea’ weeks?” he interrupted, laughing. “No, she’ll be doing Christmas with her family. Who invites a girlfriend to Christmas after less than a month? That’s weird.”

_ Girlfriend._

It wasn’t that she didn’t know, but she hadn’t heard him say it out loud. She hunched her shoulders, miserably. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Will you feel better if I ask him?”

“Hm?” All of her thoughts were stuck on _ girlfriend._

“Steve.”

She shrugged, trying not to pout.

_ Girlfriend._

He smiled at her and a little bit of the upset melted away.

“I’ll text him.”

“It’s 11 o’clock at night.”

“Psh, Steve doesn’t sleep.”

He put down his rice and got out his phone and spent a few seconds tapping at the screen, then they sat in silence, waiting.

It took less than a minute for it to ding a reply.

“I call shenanigans,” she said, “old people don’t type that fast.”

He laughed, reading it. “He says you’re more than welcome and they’d love to have you. See?”

She opened her mouth to object, but closed it again without saying anything. She didn’t have the energy or, honestly, the desire to argue the point any further. Christmas with Bucky and Steve and Peggy seemed like a Norman Rockwell painting. It would have sounded wonderful, even if the alternative hadn’t been sitting alone on her couch.

“You’re sure it's fine with you?” she finally asked.

“Lyda, it was my idea.”

“Sometimes people are just being polite.”

“Being too polite has never been my problem.”

“Except that time you gave me your hoodie and then you were cold. I should get that back to you.”

“Keep it. But, Christmas…” He stared at her, waiting for her answer.

She took a deep breath, nodding. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. When do we leave?”

“I was planning to drive down Saturday, but Christmas isn’t until Wednesday, so… we could leave Monday?”

“Don’t change your plans for me, I can do Saturday.”

“Sure you don’t mind being trapped in a house with me and the Rogers-es for four days?”

It sounded like the best thing in the world.

“Well, I’ll bring my laptop,” she teased, “so if I get sick of you, I can do work.”

He laughed. “Okay, I know you’re joking, but I also know you will bring your computer.”

“Well, I can’t not work at all for five whole days!”

“You actually can. It’s called a vacation.”

“Do you want me to finish your arm or not?”

“Lyda, it doesn’t matter. No hurry.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re still bringing your computer, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

They both laughed.

“Brat,” he said, under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roadtrip! Tune in for the next chapter to see how that goes.
> 
> And yes, Lydia is Whiplash's niece. Full disclosure, I think she would probably call him "Uncle Vanya" not "Uncle Ivan" (Vanya is the Russian nickname for Ivan), but I wanted people to recognize the name, so I cheated that a bit.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	15. If You Don't Take Toll Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, this story is set post-Endgame but Peggy is alive (not for any good reason, I just love her and don't want Steve to be living alone). I think everything else is more or less canon-compliant.

With no traffic and no stops, it takes a little more than five hours to drive from Avenger Tower to the Rogers’ house, outside of DC. Well, if you don’t take toll roads. Generally Bucky would, because he had more money than he knew what to do with and he didn’t like spending extra time on the road if he didn’t need to, but that day was an exception. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying all the time he had been spending with Alicia—he really was—but he missed sitting in Lydia’s lab every night, distracting her from her work and making questionable dietary choices. And, sure, they’d be stuck together for the better part of a week once they got there, but he felt like taking the long way. It could be fun. You learn a lot about a person when you are forced to share a confined space.

The first thing he learned was that she was one of those conscientious over-packers.

“Lyda, you don’t need three bags for four days.” He had already shut down any hopes she had of bringing her equipment and the prototype.

“Well, if you count travel, it’s six days and sweaters take up a lot of room.”

The second thing he learned was that she owned several Avengers and Star Wars themed “ugly Christmas sweaters.”

“And a Game of Thrones one,” she clarified, “which I had to pack, because Steve said he’d watch it with us.”

“That one’s not even ugly,” he said, indicating the one she was wearing, which was a little too big for her and had a picture across the chest of Darth Vader wearing a scarf. He actually thought it looked nice, possibly because it reminded him of his hoodie, hanging off of her. It wasn’t that big, but...

“I mean, they’re not really _ ugly,_ they just call them that.”

He shook his head. “And how many sweaters can you wear in six days?”

“Seven,” she said, like it was obvious, “in case one gets wet or I spill food on myself like a dumbass.”

The third thing came in the form of her reply to his comment that her cheek looked like it was doing “a little better—less sunken in—today!”

_ Not actually a compliment, Bucky. _

Apparently, she had gotten what she described as a “temporary dental bridge thing” because she was embarrassed for Steve to see her missing teeth.

“You know, he’s the last person in the world who can tell you off for fighting,” he reminded her.

“He’d do it anyway,” she replied, accurately.

They stopped on their way out of town, picking up a whole cheesecake from Junior’s to take with them and two slices for the road, and then she curled up in her seat, sitting sideways with her back against the door and her legs folded between her and the center console. He told her it wasn’t safe. She told him that most cars weren’t spacious enough for her to sit that way, and to shut up. There was also some debate, when they got to the highway, as to music. Lydia opined that you’re supposed to listen to music in the car and Bucky rebutted that it reduced his situational awareness.

“You know nobody’s going to attack us today, right?” she asked.

“People always think that and sometimes they’re wrong.”

“So, we’re just going to sit in silence for five hours?”

“Unless there’s anything you want to talk about.”

They did, of course, manage to fill the silence. They talked about Stephen King—Bucky had just read the Shining and was incredibly excited to learn, as she looked it up, that he had written sixty other books. She spent a while rambling about feminism and objectification and agency, which he found surprisingly relatable, due to his time with Hydra. They talked about Harry Potter—he had only seen the first movie, but she explained the house system to him and they spent a solid hour sorting everyone they knew and a few fictional characters. They talked about the languages they spoke—he spoke Russian, German, Japanese, Portugese, Spanish and some Latin; she spoke Russian, Wakandan, French, and Swedish—“you’ve never seen The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo? No, you have to watch it in Swedish.” This led to a brief foray back into feminism and then a discussion of other movies he hadn’t seen.

By the time they arrived, it was almost sunset and neither of them could believe that, including two stops for food, it had been over six hours. Steve and Peggy came out to greet them and hugs were exchanged. Lydia would never get used to Steve looking like someone’s grandfather—or actually being someone’s grandfather, for that matter. Steve and Bucky argued over who would carry the luggage and Lydia backed Bucky up, reminding Steve that he was about a hundred and fifty years old. He grumbled, but conceded, and Bucky and Lydia got their own bags. The room they showed Lydia to was right next to Bucky’s and was entirely too nice to be somebody’s guest room. It looked like a hotel, with a bigger bed than she had ever lied in and even a desk on the far wall.

“I told him to give you the desk room, so you would have somewhere to set up your computer,” Bucky explained.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to do work,” she said, sticking out her tongue when Steve wasn’t looking.

“I’m trying to be realistic,” he replied, “but you really shouldn’t.”

They took about twenty minutes to settle in and wash up and then convened in a very formal dining room for dinner.

“Really Steve?” Bucky laughed. “The good China?”

“Don’t look at me,” he held up his hands in surrender, “I said we should order pizza.”

“It was me, this time, I’m afraid,” Peggy interjected. “Call me an old woman, Bucky, I know you will, but we don’t get to cook for people anymore and it’s our first time having Lydia to the house.”

“No, no!” Lydia cut in. “Don’t use me as your excuse!”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re not the excuse, Lyda, her age is,” he said, then called after Peggy as she got up and went into the kitchen. “You know the rule, Pegs, you only get to use the ‘but I’m old’ excuse once a year.” He winked at Steve, who chuckled.

“Clever of me,” she replied, walking back into the room with a butter dish and handing it to Steve, “to have saved it until December.”

“Pretty sure you used it in April, actually,” he teased.

“Did I?” She smiled puckishly. “I must have forgotten. Probably because I’m so old.”

Bucky laughed.

“So, what have you two been up to?” Steve asked.

They ate and Bucky and Lydia told them all about the arm, about how Sam was doing, about the unseasonable lack of snow in New York. They talked about Bucky’s budding relationship and Lydia’s dead one and the guy Sam was currently pursuing. Steve and Peggy told them how things had been in Virginia and about the deck Steve was building and their granddaughter getting accepted to Cambridge. The four of them sat and ate and talked for hours and when the conversation dwindled, Peggy and Steve cleared the plates, refusing offers of help and leaving Bucky and Lydia alone at the table. 

“Sick of me yet?” he asked, sipping his drink.

She settled back in her chair, smiling both at him and at Peggy and Steve, hip-to-hip at the kitchen sink, a distance behind him, washing dishes and whispering to each other.

“Not at all. A little sleepy, maybe, which is embarrassing because I didn’t even drive.”

“Well, I can be exhausting,” he answered, laughing.

“You’re mean to yourself, Djesha,” she said, softly.

“I’m joking.”

“I know you are. Still mean.”

“Well, the target of the joke is not offended.”

“I’m offended for you. I’m going to start saying something nice about you every time you do it.”

“Alright, I’ll pick that fight. Good luck coming up with things to say.” He flashed her a cheeky grin.

“You, James Barnes, are so much smarter than anyone around you realizes. See how this works?”

He narrowed his eyes, playfully. “Former international terrorist?”

She laughed “I am extremely grateful to know you and I'm serious, Djesha, stop it.”

“Am I making you sad?”

“Yes. Yes you are.”

She didn’t remember that she had said he was “making her sad” several times on the night in her lab with the ice cream, but he remembered. He remembered everything. Sometimes it was a curse, but not tonight. He looked at the corner of that tattoo, peeking out of the neckline of her shirt.

Надежда умирает последней.  
Hope dies last.

“Fine,” he finally said.

“Fine?”

“I’ll work on it.”

Her expression softened, a little. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just… I feel like you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re great.”

“Well, you’re pretty smart, so you're probably right.”

She chuckled. “Yes, I am. You should definitely listen to me. In fact, why doesn’t everyone listen to me?”

“You hurt your credibility by eating with chopsticks.”

“Again with the chopsticks!” She threw her hands up in mock-outrage.

He laughed loudly.

“You know what?” she continued. “It’s fun to eat with chopsticks and they’re also the right tool for the job. I won’t apologize for that.”

“Fun, huh?”

“It is!”

“So… if I can talk Steve and Peggy into doing Chinese food tomorrow, will you teach me?”

“Oh my god!” Her eyes widened. “Do my ears deceive me?”

“Well, calm down, I’m not on team eat-with-sticks yet. I’m just saying… I’ll try it out.”

She laughed. “Well, you’ve gotta start somewhere.”

When the Rogers finished their adorable plate-washing ritual, they returned to the dining room and Peggy announced that she was going to go get ready for bed.

“I recommend you do the same, Lydia. Keeping pace with these two is impossible.”

Lydia turned to Bucky “You _ do _ sleep, right? I had just assumed.”

“A little.”

“How little is a little?”

“Well, I generally do four or five hours a day, but Steve only needs two.”

“I got the real serum,” Steve added.

“Steve, you say that like I chose to get the Hydra knock-off,” Bucky grumbled.

“So what,” Lydia cut back in, “you just stay up late? Wake up early?”

“Both,” Steve and Bucky answered together.

Peggy shot Lydia a look and Lydia giggled, looking over to the clock and stretching. “It doesn’t seem like ten.” She wasn’t used to going to bed before midnight, but she was tired from the road and she got the feeling that Steve and Bucky wanted to talk, so she made a display of yawning and got up. “Well, I guess I should follow you, then,” she beamed at Peggy.

They all exchanged their good-nights and see-you-in-the-mornings and Lydia and Peggy went to their respective rooms. Steve and Bucky stayed up a few more hours, talking and watching an old baseball game on television, before following suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a surprising influx of comments on the last chapter made me check my statistics and OH MY GOD, I had no idea people were actually reading this story lol. I seriously thought it was like 5-10 people. So, thank you! Thank you to everyone who is subscribed or has a bookmark! Thank you to everyone who has left kudos! Extra special **thank you** to everyone who has taken the time to comment, which means a lot to me! I hope you continue to enjoy!


	16. Can I tell you a secret?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter is super fluffy. Um... SPOILERS for Season 1 of Game of Thrones, but if you haven't seen it by now, you probably aren't going to.
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Her time at the Rogers house was, by a very wide margin, the best vacation Lydia had ever taken. Granted, she didn’t take many vacations. Still, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been somewhere that everyone seemed to like each other so much. It made her feel warm and fuzzy, like the way people described “coming home,” though it was unlike any home she had ever had.

The four of them, Bucky, Lydia, Steve, and Peggy, spent Sunday all curled up on the couch, drinking cocoa and watching Game of Thrones. Lydia was wearing a House Stark sweater with a wolf motif that said “WINTER IS COMING,” which Bucky found hilarious, and they agreed that he needed one like it. They made it through the whole first season, generally enjoying themselves, though Steve was flustered by all of the nudity and they were all (except Lydia) shocked by Ned’s death.

As the show wrapped up and they debated starting Season 2, Steve announced, apparently unprompted, that he was ordering Chinese food. Bucky grinned at Lydia and she asked Steve to make sure they sent chopsticks. She held a little class on how to use them—both the proper way and the slightly bastardized version that worked better for her—as they ate on the couch. Peggy already knew how to eat with chopsticks, for reasons she refused to discuss, and Bucky picked it up immediately, grudgingly confessing that there was something pleasant about it. Steve couldn’t quite get the hang of it, but he was stubborn and he managed to get through his food with them, anyway, grumbling the whole time.

* * *

Monday, they all went to the Air and Space Museum in DC. Bucky asked Lydia not to wear her extremely eye-catching Captain America sweater, which was designed to look like Steve’s suit. She protested this, of course, because “we’re going to the Captain America exhibit _ with Captain America!”_ but she eventually gave in and changed. The second sweater was bright red and had a more generic Avengers theme, bearing rows of alternating hammers and shields and hulk fists and Iron Man helmets. He wasn’t at all sure that it was better than the first one, but he couldn’t keep asking her to change and red suited her, so he let it go. They took their time looking at the exhibits and Peggy walked with a cane, because she was too proud to use the walker she really needed.

Steve and Peggy glowed with nostalgia as they showed Lydia around the Captain America exhibit, pointing out the displays, one at a time, and sharing their memories. They all stopped for a few minutes to smile at the James “Bucky” Barnes display, except for Bucky--it made him squirm. The last time he had seen it, it had been a memorial to “the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.” Now, there was a promo shot that he remembered posing for, feeling like an idiot, trying to look serious while pointing a fake rifle at nothing. It said things like “brainwashed by Hydra scientists” and “forced to kill.” He preferred it when it said he was dead.

Sensing his discomfort, Lydia suggested that they go see a show at the planetarium.

“It’s dark in there,” she whispered. “You can hide for a while. Besides,” she raised her voice to address all of them, “Peggy can sit down.”

“I’m fine,” Peggy protested, already headed that way, with Steve at her heels.

“Planetarium, huh?” Bucky asked, moving to follow them. “Isn’t that just like… the sky?”

“Sometimes. Other times, it’s about space, which is always fascinating. But even if it is just the sky! Call me easy to impress--”

“You are,” he interrupted.

“Well, I think it’s amazing. I’ve never been anywhere that you could see that many stars with the naked eye. Oh! Or the Milky Way? God, wouldn’t it be cool to just… look up and see that?”

“It’s pretty cool, yeah.”

“You’ve seen it? Of course you have, what am I saying. Was light pollution really low in the 40s?”

“Not in the Bronx,” Steve answered, a few steps ahead of her.

“Oh.” Her face fell.

“It was pretty low on the war front, though, in Germany” Bucky replied.

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “And then, of course, Siberia. Now _ there _ you can see the sky.”

She perked up so quickly at that, he was half-tempted to throw her in the Quinjet and take her there. Maybe one day.

“The best place to see the night sky,” Peggy said definitively, “is from a ship at sea.”

Nobody was willing to argue with her, so that was the last word on the matter.

They went to the planetarium and watched a show about the life cycle of stars. Bucky found it vaguely interesting, but it got Lydia riled up and she spent the rest of the afternoon talking about it, excitedly answering every question they asked and several they didn’t.

“I didn’t know you were so interested in this stuff,” Bucky said, eventually.

“Oh, don’t let me fool you. I know I’m all engineering now, but I started out studying physics and astrophysics was, like… my thing.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm hmm. I guess those Van… um…” she coughed. “Excuse me. Um… _ family _engineering genes were too much to ignore. So, what about all of you? What were you planning to do with yourselves, before the War?”

“I was MI6,” Peggy answered, immediately. “The War just changed what I was aiming at. Of course, on paper, MI6 didn’t hire women back then.” She looked back over her shoulder to Bucky and Lydia, rolling her eyes.

“You’re so cool, Peggy,” Lydia replied, beaming. “And what about you guys?” She looked from Steve to Bucky.

“Nothing exciting,” Steve answered. “We didn’t have any big plans.”

“I kind of expected my dad to ask me to take over the store,” Bucky followed.

“Oh, come on, you guys,” Lydia huffed, unsatisfied with the truth. “If you could have done anything…”

They kept walking, thinking for a minute.

“Well, I was a boxing champ back then,” Bucky said finally. “I guess I sometimes thought about going pro.”

“A champ, huh?”

“He was,” Steve answered. “Three-time welterweight champion at the YMCA.”

She grinned, leaning toward Bucky and hitting his metal arm gently with her fist. “You should take it back up. Nobody would beat you, now.”

He laughed. “You may be right.”

“Anything else?” she asked. “Steve?”

Bucky shrugged. “We weren’t very ambitious, were we?”

“Well, in my defense,” Steve replied, “my size and health limited my options. I don’t know… I enjoyed art. Bucky and I used to take these art classes. I never saw a future in it, though.”

“You two took art classes?” Lydia grinned, looking back and forth between them. “What kind?”

“Mostly drawing,” Steve answered.

“He was a lot better at it than I was,” Bucky added. “Actually, the more I think about it, I guess I spent most of my time boxing and reading and…”

“Dating,” Steve finished for him.

“Hey!” Lydia said. “If you think of sparring as boxing, it sounds like your life is still remarkably the same.”

Bucky laughed louder than he meant to, looking around to make sure nobody was paying attention to them. “It feels pretty different.”

They stopped at a couple more exhibits before heading back to the house for leftovers and a little more Game of Thrones, then they turned in early because Steve and Peggy were tired from the day out.

* * *

The next day was Christmas Eve, and Lydia came downstairs in the Captain America sweater that Bucky had talked her out of wearing the previous day. Steve and Peggy had cookies to bake for the neighbors and some gifts to wrap. A lot of ideas were thrown around to keep Bucky and Lydia busy, including ice skating, which she was pretty excited about, but in the end they agreed that they didn’t want to leave the house two days in a row. Instead, they stayed in, dutifully avoiding the “gift wrap room” and trying to help with the cookies, until Lydia accidentally used salted instead of unsalted butter in one batch and was subsequently asked to “please just go watch TV.” Not Game of Thrones, though, since everyone was scattered around the house.

Lydia and Bucky settled on the couch and watched Christmas movies. A Christmas Carol and Elf and Love Actually (which made her cry but he didn’t even sniffle) were followed by some dubious eggnog made by Steve and then the old claymation Rudolph movie and a recording of the Nutcracker from the 80s. 

The day wound down with another late dinner in the dining room and conversation that got sleepier and more wistful, the more they all drank, though the alcohol didn’t really seem to affect Steve.

A little after 11, Lydia had her legs curled up under her, still in her chair at the dinner table. She was nursing a glass of vodka, babbling cheerfully to Bucky about the peculiar effects of solar storms on Asgardian technology and how she had overcome them in working on his arm. Soft music played on an old sound system and Steve and Peggy danced slowly around the living room, about 15 feet away. Bucky was watching her talk with unfocused eyes and a far-away smile.

“You’re not listening to me,” she realized out loud. She couldn’t really blame him; she was pretty sure he didn’t understand half of what she was saying. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” His eyes met hers and her sarcastic response died in her throat. God, he was… beautiful. It wasn’t like she didn’t know, but... the dark eyes, the stubble, the pouty lips, the way a few shorter pieces of his hair, in the front, fell into his face. Just… a really good looking guy. Shit. She averted her eyes, glancing down at her drink, embarrassed. It felt like, if they kept looking at each other, he'd be able to hear her thinking about him.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I was running out of steam, anyway. So, um… what are you thinking about?”

He opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, thought for a second, then pointed to Steve and Peggy. “Those two. It makes me happy to see them happy.”

She smiled and nodded, sipping her drink and looking over to them. “They do seem happy.”

Lydia and Bucky sat in contented silence for a few minutes before she laughed to herself, but the look on her face wasn’t really a happy one.

“What?” His eyes twinkled when he smiled at her and his posture was more relaxed than she had ever seen and she suddenly wished he would drink more often. 

“I was just thinking.”

“About?”

She leaned across the table, toward him. “Могу я рассказать тебе секрет?” {Can I tell you a secret?}

He leaned toward her, too. “You can tell me anything.”

She giggled, blushing. “That’s an intense answer.”

“Lyda.”

“Okay, sorry.” She glanced at Steve and Peggy and sighed. “So… я никогда не танцевала… раньше.” {I have never danced… before.}

He pulled back a little, eying her in disbelief. “Никогда?” {Never?}

“Нет, ни с кем. Даже на моей свадьбе.” {No, not with anyone. Even at my wedding.}

“Почему?” {Why?}

“Я не знаю. Крис не танцевал.” {I don’t know. Chris didn’t dance.} She shrugged.

“Well, now you’ve put me in a spot, because I had decided not to ask you—”

“Probably for the best.”

“—I wasn’t going to, but there’s no way you’re leaving this house and still saying you’ve never danced before.”

“Shhh!” She looked at him like he was insane and whispered “I did say _ secret. _”

“Lyda, Peggy speaks Russian.”

Peggy laughed quietly into Steve’s shoulder.

“The only way to keep people from finding out now,” Bucky continued, “is for it to stop being true.” 

Lydia’s blush deepened and she laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you—”

“Lyda.”

“Что?” {What?}

“Dance with me.” He got out of his chair and walked around the table, extending a hand to her, and she just stared at it.

“We really shouldn’t.”

He smiled warmly. “Yeah, probably not.” His hand stayed out.

She laughed. “I don’t know how.”

“You’re pretty smart and it’s not complicated.”

“Smart doesn’t mean coordinated,” she protested. “I might step on your feet.”

“Then it’s lucky I’m so tough.” He chuckled.

In the next second, dozens of things raced through her mind, including:

_ Do friends usually dance with each other? I mean, Hermione and Harry did. _   
_ I should be working, I’m so close to being done. _   
_ He has a girlfriend. _   
_ Why am I wearing sweatpants? I must look like a dumbass. _   
_ I’m going to look like a dumbass no matter what, I am about as graceful as a dying zebra. _

For some reason, probably the vodka, she couldn’t bring herself to care much about any of those things.

“Come on,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Don’t make me sit back down. That would be embarrassing.”

“And tragic for you, Lydia,” Peggy interjected. “Dancing in one’s living room at Christmas is about the most fun you can have… if you’ve the right partner.”

Lydia suppressed a smile and took his hand, pretty sure that she would regret it. He pulled her to her feet and right into his enormous arms, smiling at her and swaying gently with his hands on her waist.

“See? Not so bad,” he said, quietly.

The heat radiating off of his body, the comfortable, familiar smell of him, the sheer proximity… it was overwhelming. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, rather looking down at nothing, bringing her hands up to rest on his shoulders. She was glad that her sweater hid the goosebumps.

“No, it’s um… it’s nice.”

“So, I guess you’re gonna have to find a new secret,” he teased.

“A girl has many secrets.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s a Game of Thrones thing… we’re not there yet.”

His arms tightened around her very slightly for a second, then his left hand—the metal one—moved to take her right. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt like it was going to break free of her ribs, but she tried to breathe through it.

“Is this alright?” he whispered, sensing her agitation. “We can switch arms if my hand freaks you out.”

“Is something weird about your hand?” she replied, smiling and squeezing it gently, feeling the plates shift under her fingertips. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He laughed quietly. “Merry Christmas, Lyda.”

“Счастливого Рождества, Джеша.” {Merry Christmas, Djesha.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story and thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.


	17. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Bucky and Lydia only danced for about ten minutes before Steve cut in and Bucky got the distinct impression that it was to make the whole thing feel more innocent. Just a bunch of friends dancing! Nothing to see, here! They traded partners on and off for most of an hour, getting some laughs out of Steve and Bucky’s animated waltz around the room, before all going their separate ways and to bed, but Lydia had never been less tired in her life. She couldn’t help but think of an old song from a musical she had seen once, that went “I could have danced all night.”

She could have. She hadn’t even known what she was doing, but she’d had fun.

Also… Bucky.

She was just too wired to consider going to sleep. Instead, she resolved to read over the code for the arm, start to finish, and rewrite any snags she hit. This thing was almost done. Bucky could have a new arm in a week!

It was 2:21 AM and her eyelids were just starting to droop when she was startled awake by a CRASH in the next room. Without even stopping to wonder what it was, she was out of her chair, leaving her laptop open, running out of her room and to Bucky’s door. There, she hesitated. You can’t just burst into someone’s bedroom. She knocked gently.

“Bucky?” Her voice came out quiet. She didn’t even know if he could hear her through the door.

No reply, but a few seconds later she heard a scraping sound, like a piece of furniture being dragged across the floor.

She had to go in.

She opened the door slowly, sticking just her head in, and in the dim light coming through the window, she could barely see him, tangled in a sheet and blanket, thrashing around on the floor beside the bed, which had been jerked away from the wall at a weird angle. A porcelain lamp had been knocked from the bedside table and its shattered pieces were strewn across the floor.

“Bucky?”

She couldn’t seem to speak above a whisper and he didn’t respond. She approached him cautiously, leaving the door open behind her. As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she could see that the floor and some of the shards of porcelain she was stepping around had blood on them, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Maybe she should go get Steve. Maybe she should just wake Bucky up; she was pretty sure he was dreaming. She had heard you weren’t supposed to wake people who were sleepwalking or having violent dreams, but…

She bent down beside him to look at him. His eyes were shut tightly and his face was twisted into a sort of panicked wince. She spent a moment uncomfortably watching him flail and she barely managed to dodge out of the way as his metal arm tore right through the blanket.

There was no question. She couldn’t leave him like this.

She reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder. “Djesha,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.

“Djesha,” she repeated, as loudly as she dared.

He jerked violently away from her, kicking her legs out from under her and scooting back until he ran into the bed. His breath came shallow and ragged and his eyes opened wide, looking around in unmistakable terror. He caught sight of her, a crumpled figure stirring on the ground, a few feet away.

“Кто вы?” {Who are you?} he yelled, in a voice that barely sounded like his.

She scrambled on the hardwood, feeling porcelain digging into her palms as she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

“Это я, это Лида,” {It’s me, it’s Lyda} she replied firmly. “Ты цел?” {Are you alright?}

She saw the fear fade from his expression.

“L… Lyda?”

She took a deep breath, in and out. “Hi, Djesha.”

“Jesus.” He took a second to catch his breath, surveying the room again, and then her.

“I didn’t… are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m fine. Bruised ass, maybe.” She dusted the porcelain off her hands. “You? I think you’re bleeding.”

He looked down at himself, murmuring something as he disentangled himself from the blanket. They both stood and she got her first real look at him. He was wearing shorts and a tanktop and, holy shit, leg muscles. Her eyes couldn’t linger on them, though, rather being drawn to the large amount of porcelain stuck in his knees and right elbow and shoulder. One knee was bleeding pretty badly, but he didn’t really seem to notice, as he dusted himself off. He picked the lampshade up off the floor, walking over and sitting on the displaced bed, cursing quietly.

“Um, I’m… fuck. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t.” She tiptoed around the rubble, walking over to sit beside him, then leaning forward to pick pieces of porcelain out of his knees. “May I?” Her fingers hesitated just above his skin.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, quietly. “I mean, you can, but…”

She glanced at him and smiled. “Who’s worried? Если у тебя всё хорошо, всё хорошо.” {If everything is good with you, everything is good.} As she spoke, she started pulling bloody porcelain out of his skin, making a little pile in her palm.

“So…” her attention stayed on his knee, “do you want to talk about it?”

“I have… nightmares… sometimes.”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Hydra?”

“Yeah. Do you need some light?” he diverted.

She shrugged.

“Lyda, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

She sighed, finally turning to face him, concern lining her forehead. “Don’t apologize. You did scare me. I thought someone was attacking you… I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He nodded, not feeling very okay, but grateful that she was there. He watched her look around his legs for more shards. Her hair was a cascade of dark, wavy tangles down her back and she was wearing Star Wars shorts with an indecently thin tank top that her nipples poked at. His eyes swept up her unshaven legs and over her arms, across her collar bones, her cleavage, her neck. He watched her muscles move under her skin and he read her tattoos. He felt an impulse to reach out and touch her—to run his hands over the decorated expanse of her skin. He stopped himself. It was just… seeing her disheveled and unguarded like this, in the low light, reminded him of that night when they had talked in the park and eaten cheesecake—the same cheesecake that was currently sitting partially-eaten in the fridge downstairs. He let the memory wash over him while he watched her work, fingers tipped in his drying blood. He could still smell her cigarettes from that night.

When she was satisfied that there were no more foreign objects in his knees, she looked back up at him with a weak smile, to find him already smiling at her.

“You can go back to sleep,” he offered.

“I told you, I wasn’t asleep. But if you want me to go, I will. There’s no way you’ve gotten your five hours.”

His heart ached. He wanted a lot of things, but he didn’t want her to leave.

“How do you feel about some midnight cheesecake?”

She laughed quietly. “There’s no wrong time of day for cheesecake.”

“Exactly.”

She sat on the bed while he swept up the debris from the lamp and then she dumped her shard-pile into the trash and stood to follow him downstairs, stopping him by the door.

“Djesha...”

“Yeah?” He turned to see what she wanted and she grabbed him in a hug.

He hugged her back and they stood there for several seconds, enjoying each other’s presence and heat.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Thank you for checking on me.”

They let go of each other and exchanged a look before she followed him down to the kitchen, where she washed her hands while he grabbed two forks and then the whole cheesecake box, half-full, out of the fridge. He didn’t turn on any lights as he walked to the couch, still covered in dried blood and porcelain dust, and sat. She chose not to comment on the state of him, but rather said “not even cutting a slice, huh?” She plopped down beside him.

He took a bite right out of the top and smiled at her and she laughed louder than she meant to, then clapped a hand over her mouth, continuing to giggle quietly. She took a bite, too.

“Mmgh, I fucking love cheesecake,” she hummed.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, not really thinking about the cheesecake. “So, you wanna watch something?”

“I don’t want to wake them up,” she said, pointing at the stairs with her fork.

“I mean, Steve’s probably not asleep, but even if he is, they’re shockingly heavy sleepers. They slept through my… thing.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she said, pulling an afghan partially over her legs and scooting closer to him for warmth. “Oh my god, you’re like a furnace.” This was the first time in all their couch-sitting that it was bare leg-against-leg and his skin was searing, seeming to bring her whole body temperature up.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fucking delightful! Warm, warm, warm.” She leaned into him a little for effect and he laughed.

“Sure, make yourself comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m, like, extremely comfortable.” She pulled back from him a little, anyway, and he regretted saying anything. “So, uh, watching something… what were you thinking?”

“Well, we should wait for them to watch more Game of Thrones,” he said.

“We could watch a Stephen King movie. I mean, the books are better, but…”

“Meh, I’ll stick with the books. What was the one you were raving about in the car the other day. Dragon Tattoo?”

“I love that movie!” she interrupted him. “But it’s so stressful; probably not right now, right? Don’t you have a list? Like Steve used to keep?”

“Yeah, but now I feel like you’re challenging me to watch the Dragon Tattoo movie.”

“I’m really not. Besides, you _ have _to watch the Swedish one, and then you really should watch the whole series and it’s like 9 hours long, so… not tonight, I think. What about…” she took a bite. “Why can I only think of movies from the last few years? Come on, Lyda…” She tapped her fork against her lips, thinking.

“The one you said I had to see earlier,” he piped up. “That guy and his son watched it in… Love Actually?”

“Titanic! Oh my god, it’s so good! I still can’t believe you haven’t seen it.”

“It’s on the list.”

“Still not sure it’s the right movie to watch after a bad dream, what with all the chaos and death when the boat sinks.”

“Can’t be more violent than Game of Thrones.”

She laughed. “You’re right about that, it isn’t.”

“I remember what a big deal it was, when I was a kid. I mean, it happened a few years before I was born, but people still talked about it.”

“Wait, I thought the Titanic was in, like, the 1800s.”

“No, I think it was… 1913?”

“And when were you born?”

“March 10th, 1917.”

She smiled, taking a bite of cheesecake and shaking her head at him. “You're old as balls.”

He smiled back. “It’s true.”

“So, are you 102 or do you not count the blip years?”

“I don’t know how fucking old I am. Do I count the time I was frozen? ‘Cause that was like seventy-five years, but I wasn’t frozen the whole time, so then you’ve got to add that back in...”

“So, you’re 102,” she said, conclusively.

He laughed. “Yes. But I missed my hundredth birthday… during the blip.”

“Oh no!”

“I mean, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Of course not, years are totally arbitrary, but you should at least get a cake or something.”

He took a forkful of cheesecake, responding with his mouth full. “I have cake.”

“Well then,” she scooped up some cheesecake and held up her fork like it was a toast, “happy birthday to you.”

He scooped some up, as well, swallowing and tapping his fork against hers, and they both ate, smiling at each other while they chewed.

“So, we’re watching Titanic?” he asked, a minute later.

“If you’re up for it.”

He was, and Steve and Peggy even owned it. She spent a good chunk of the beginning of the movie asking him questions about the time period.

“Did everyone really wear hats back then?”

“Did that many people really smoke? Did you smoke?”

“Did people really go to the docks to wave at ships?”

“Aww, did you wear knickerbockers when you were little?”

But as the plot unfolded, she got engrossed and when Jack stopped Rose from jumping off the ship, Bucky started to see himself and Lydia in the characters. He flashed back to the night with the cheesecake, again—the way her legs had hung down over the city—some part of him had wondered if she even cared if she fell. And it was so easy for him to see Lydia’s shitty husband in Rose’s shitty fiance. When Rose insisted that she loved that asshole and was going to marry him and Jack called her a brat, Bucky felt validated, bumping his shoulder against Lydia’s. She chuckled, whispering “yeah, I know.”

“Just saying.”

“Well, love is bullshit and relationships are bullshit.”

“They’re really not.”

“The Titanic was at sea for like a week! You can’t seriously believe people can fall in love that quickly.”

He shook his head at her. “Whatever you say, brat.”

She laughed, muttering “_you’re_ a brat.”

Then came the scene at the helm of the ship—the one he had seen in the Christmas movie—and it felt different, watching it now. The characters laced their fingers together and kissed and Bucky’s head filled with memories of holding Lydia’s hand while they danced. He looked at her and her eyes were glued to the screen and it took all of his willpower not to reach out and just… touch her fingers. He tightened his grip on his fork, taking a bite of cheesecake, just to give his hand something else to do, but the ache in his heart was back. He distracted himself for a few minutes by eating, until she diffused the tension, teasing him during the nude drawing scene.

“Is that what your art class was like?”

He laughed. “Oh, yeah. Same necklace and everything.”

A while later, not long after the ship hit the iceberg, she started dozing against his shoulder. In a few more minutes, she was snoring quietly and though she stirred every time there was a loud noise, she managed to sleep through the rest of the movie, deaths and all. When it reverted to the DVD menu, he slid the remainder of the cheesecake onto the coffee table, careful not to move enough to wake her, and he leaned back into the couch, pushing her hair out of her face and smiling fondly at her sleepy little whine. He settled in. Maybe it was alright if they slept there for a while. He didn’t really care whether it was or not; he didn’t plan to move until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, they're both wrong: the Titanic sunk in 1912. Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are hugely appreciated!


	18. What are you doing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

“Bucky!”

They woke with a start to a panicked Steve bounding down the stairs.

“Steve? Wh…” Bucky wasn’t completely awake yet.

“Jesus, Buck! Are you alright? What happened?”

“What happened?” Bucky repeated groggily.

Lydia looked around, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Steve deflated. “You were sleeping.” He shook his head. “You’re covered in blood, you jerk.”

Bucky remembered what had prompted the late-night movie and looked down at his legs. “Shit. Sorry. We’re fine…”

“Not that you asked about me,” Lydia interjected with a yawning chuckle.

“I just, uh… sorry,” Bucky continued. “I broke the lamp. I’m fine. It’s just some porcelain.”

Steve finally turned to Lydia, who smiled sleepily. “For the record, the blood was dry before we sat on the couch.”

Steve laughed. “You two, I swear to god. Did you eat the rest of the cheesecake?”

“Only most of it,” Bucky answered.

“It was necessary,” Lydia added.

Suddenly all three of them were laughing and the remaining tension drained out of the room as Steve collapsed onto the couch beside them.

“God,” he said, still laughing, “you scared the hell out of me.”

“Merry Christmas?” Lydia said.

* * *

Everyone washed up and changed—Lydia into a Winter Soldier sweater, with one grey arm and a tinsel and star design snaking around it—and the morning went smoothly from there. Once Peggy got up, there were cinnamon rolls and mimosas and gifts were exchanged—most of them silly, some thoughtful. Steve and Peggy expressed their displeasure at Bucky’s continued inability to remain clean-shaven for more than a day by giving him a set of tiny Christmas tree ornaments to hang on his beard. He really barely had more than stubble, but he got a couple to stick and they looked ridiculous and he wore them proudly.

Lydia apologized for her gift to Bucky, swearing that she’d brought him the e-reader before he started dating a librarian and that it wasn’t intended as a dig at her.

“But it still seems like something you should have, I think! You can download books wirelessly from anywhere in the world, so if you’re traveling and you don’t want to carry a pile of books around everywhere… also I have another thing for you, but it’s back at the tower because it goes with your present from Sam.”

“Lyda, stop apologizing. I love it.”

“I just feel so bad because when I bought it, I thought _ ‘oh, he won’t have to leave the tower for books anymore,’ _ but obviously you’re not going to stop going to the library, because…”

“He said stop apologizing, Lydia.” Peggy stopped her, with a hand on her shoulder.

“Right. Sorry. I mean, not s… sorry.”

Then Bucky handed Lydia a large box, which seemed to hold one small-ish, heavy thing, that shifted as she took it. She tore it open and stared inside with wide eyes; she recognized it immediately. “This is…” Gingerly, she pulled it out of the box—a rectangular plate about the size of her hand, made of almost-black metal, with a large spike protruding from one side. She turned it over, running her fingertips over the symbols etched on the bottom.

“What is it?” asked Steve, the only one who didn’t know.

“It’s…” Lydia looked to Bucky for confirmation, afraid her eyes were lying to her.

He nodded, smiling.

“It’s one of the shoulder plates from the Destroyer. Not just any… I mean, it’s L53, but this… I thought it was… they told us they melted it down. None of us believed them, of course, but I figured it was locked down in some maximum-security facility, somewhere.” Her eyes pored over every detail, reverently. “Bucky, where did you get this?”

He shrugged. “Pulled a couple of strings.”

She shook her head, unable to stop looking at it, turning it over and back in her hands. “It’s amazing. I can’t… is this cleared? Like, no one can know I have this, can they?”

“Eh, it _ is _ cleared—the government knows you have it—but if anyone asks, it’s a replica.”

“No, nobody who knows the project would believe that.”

“Well, maybe hide it from those people, then,” he laughed.

“I can’t believe you…” she looked up at him in shock. “Джеша, это…” {Djesha, this is…} She grabbed him in a hug.

“Счастливого Рождества, Лида.” {Merry Christmas, Lida.}

* * *

The day passed quietly. Bucky made Lydia change into a Star Wars sweater (though the sight of her in a gaudy sweater modeled after him made him feel some kind of way) before they helped Steve and Peggy deliver plates of cookies to their neighbors and then they all watched more Game of Thrones, stopping to take the occasional phone call from loved ones.

After dinner, more dubious eggnog that only super-soldiers could stomach, and a viewing of the old Grinch cartoon, Lydia and Peggy wandered up to bed while Steve and Bucky stayed up, chatting by the dying fire. It was their last night to catch up—not that they couldn’t talk on the phone—and there was plenty to discuss, but Steve was being weird. He seemed upset but he didn’t directly say anything about it and Bucky couldn’t sort out why. It wasn’t like Steve to be passive aggressive.

“Alright, what is it?” Bucky finally asked.

“What?” Steve said, knowing the answer.

“You’re dancing around saying something. It’s not like you.”

“Yeah, well… I guess I’m getting less confrontational in my old age.”

Bucky laughed quietly. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Steve smiled.

“So, come on,” Bucky continued, “out with it.”

Steve turned to face him, settling into the new position, thinking for a moment before saying, “Bucky… what are you doing?”

Bucky blinked at him, confused. “I don’t know. What am I doing?”

“I’m talking about Lyd.”

“What about her?”

“It’s obvious you two are crazy about each other.”

Bucky scoffed. “Steve…”

“Tell me I’m wrong. She’s certainly crazy about you. And if you don’t like her as much, you’re advertising something that’s not for sale.”

“Oh, come on, how do you figure?”

Steve shook his head a little. “The flirting. The dancing. The sleeping on the couch, watching romance movies.”

“The movie was her idea.”

“The whole trip, Buck. You brought her here. You have a girlfriend and neither of them deserves what you’re doing to them. You can’t date every girl in town, like you used to. People take these things seriously now.”

“Steve, it’s not…” Bucky was quiet for a second, collecting his thoughts. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but if he had to, he knew Steve was the right person. “It’s me. I’m… yeah, I’m crazy about her. I am, what do you want? And I flirt, it’s who I am and she’s amazing and it’s hard not to. But she doesn’t like me that way.” Steve tried to interrupt him and Bucky held up a hand to stop him. “She doesn’t. I wish…” he sighed. “But it’s just not like that. Even if it was, she has been… very vocal about how much she doesn’t want another relationship and that’s her decision to make. And she’s still fucking married. And I _ do _want a relationship, so what am I supposed to do? I’m trying to get over it, you know? I can’t make myself miserable forever. So, I’m dating. And Alicia is great—honestly great. I really like her. So would you.”

“But she’s not Lyd,” Steve said, like Bucky didn’t know.

“I’m gonna have to get over that, Steve. There are lots of wonderful women out there and almost none of them are Lydia.”

Steve laughed, shifting in his chair and clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

“You’ve got it wrong, my friend.”

“Well, I know her better than you do. Besides, I don’t think I’m her type.”

“You mean Chris?”

“Yeah, the clean-cut one who’s smart enough to keep up with her? We’re not exactly twins. Hell, Wanda for that matter.” He sighed. “I joke, but you should see the way those two look at each other. It’s something else.”

“Well, be as little like Chris as possible,” Steve said, smiling. “As to Wanda… yeah, I don’t know how you can compete with that. Know any magic tricks?”

They both laughed.

“I know I’m making an ass of myself here,” Bucky said, “but… just trust me to handle this, would ya? It’s killin’ me, but I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are. Just…” Steve took a deep breath. “If you’re sure this is what you’re gonna do... pull back a little, with Lyd. You can’t keep going like this. It’ll turn bad.”

Bucky nodded, sighing. “Alright, I’ll work on it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

They were quiet for a minute before Bucky laughed and confessed, “The dancing was probably a mistake.”

“Oh, you think so?” Steve laughed too, quirking an eyebrow, and he looked so much like his younger self that for just a moment, they were teenagers again, sitting on the fire escape, talking about girls.

“You’re a punk.” Bucky answered. “I wish I could say I wouldn’t do it again.”

“Name one of your kids after me.”

“Shut up, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are hugely appreciated!


	19. Alicia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath, readers.

Bucky took the toll roads to get back to New York the next day. His chat with Steve had shaken him and he couldn’t handle talking to Lydia right then. Had Steve been right about her? Did she like him? Was he being unfair to her? To Alicia? On some level, he actually knew he wasn’t being fair to Alicia, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. He felt like if he didn’t go out with anyone else until he got over Lydia, he'd be alone forever. Besides, Steve had no right to talk. Had it been fair for Steve to go out with Sharon while he was still in love with her aunt? Her married, old-woman aunt?

“You’re quiet today,” she said after almost an hour of silence. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. You can put music on, if you want.”

_Anything to avoid conversation._

“What about your situational awareness?” She laughed.

“No one is going to attack us today.”

She stared at him for a minute before saying “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Okay, well… if you change your mind, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

He didn’t respond and they spent the rest of the car ride in tense silence. She felt like he was mad at her, but she had no idea why and she didn’t want to push him. It still made her insides twist uncomfortably.

When they got to the tower, he helped her take her bags to her apartment and flashed her his first smile of the day during the course of a brief goodbye.

She told him the arm would probably be finished in a couple of days.

He said he looked forward to it.

* * *

When Sam called her about an hour later to see if she was still coming to the team Christmas brunch the next day, she cursed quietly. She had forgotten. She had hoped that, whatever was up with Bucky, he would have a few days to work through it before they saw each other again.

“Will Bucky be there?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Well, that’s… maybe I shouldn't go. I feel like he’s pissed at me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, he’s being weird.”

“He’s always weird.”

“Can you just take my word for it?”

“Well, forget him, you’ll be there to see me anyway.”

She laughed. “You dork.”

“Am I wrong?”

“What time do I need to be there?”

“Ten.”

She whined.

“That’s not even early,” he huffed.

“For you, maybe.”

“I’m gonna have to come drag you out of bed, aren’t I?”

“Actually, would you come get me, before you go? Like… so we can go together?”

He sighed. “Nine forty-five.”

“I appreciate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“What’s the dress code?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“I will wear my fucking pajamas, Sam. What’s the dress code?”

He laughed. “From anyone else, that would be an empty threat. Nice casual. Just don’t wear a Winter Soldier tee shirt and you’ll be fine.”

“Fuck you. Okay, I’ll see you then.”

He laughed and she hung up on him.

* * *

He was at her door a few minutes before 9:45 the next morning and was pleasantly surprised to find her ready to go, in a green sweater (of the non-ugly variety) and faded black jeans.

“That’s what you’re gonna wear?”

“Yeah, I…” she looked down at herself. “What’s wrong with it?”

He laughed. “Nothing, you’re good.”

“You’re such an ass. Am I really fine?”

“You worry about the dumbest shit. Are you ready to go?”

She was and they went.

When they got there, her eyes scanned the small group congregating around the enormous Christmas tree, but Bucky wasn’t there yet. Almost all the other Avengers were—even Clint had come into town. Wanda waved at her and her heart fluttered, though less than it usually would have. She waved back, thinking about Bucky, wondering what had been up with him the day before, wondering if today would be different. They mingled for a good twenty minutes, taking glasses of champagne and making smalltalk with Rhodey, until she heard a loud “_There _ he is!” from Sam.

She turned toward the elevator and her heart dropped. Bucky was walking in with a woman on his arm and she was maybe the most beautiful human being Lydia had ever seen up close. She didn’t know what she had expected Alicia to look like—maybe a bombshell redhead like Natasha—but it wasn’t this.

She was probably average height, maybe 5’ 7”, but it was hard to tell because she was in very high red satin heels. She had an actual hourglass figure and dressed to accentuate it, in a high-waisted gold skirt, a cream-colored shirt with a bow at the neck, and a tight red jacket, which managed to somehow be both cinched at the waist and unbuttoned. She had wavy hair that faded from white-blonde to soft-pink as it approached her shoulders and was crowned with a red beret. Large, round, gold glasses sat over the sprinkling of freckles that fell across her nose. Her makeup was immaculate. She was so perfect from top to bottom, more like a window display than a real person, that Lydia’s immediate reaction was to think she was photoshopped.

_No,_ she reminded herself, _she’s standing right there and she really looks like that._

Bucky, oblivious to the hurricane of thoughts in Lydia’s head, smiled around at everyone. “Hey!”

“Mister never-late,” Sam teased. “If Scott beat you here, you know you’re slackin’.”

“Hey,” Scott protested, somewhere behind them.

“Yeah, I know. We got held up.”

“My fault!” Alicia added, with a charming smile. “Sorry! Hi!”

“Well, you can’t rush perfection,” Bucky said to Alicia, quietly.

She giggled, leaning into him.

Everyone returned her greeting, except Lydia, who moved her lips but couldn’t make her voice come out.

Lydia went through the next hour in a blur, watching people open presents, mumbling through an explanation of the custom noise-cancelling headphones she had designed for Bucky, to go with the music player from Sam.

Something-something-great-for-people-with-PTSD, Sam’s idea, words-words-words.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the exquisite woman with her hand on Bucky’s knee. It seemed so obvious, seeing them together, the best looking couple in the world. Of course this was what he wanted. What a person finds attractive is determined pretty early in their life and it’s influenced by social norms and personal experiences and a host of other things that would obviously cause Bucky—Bucky, who grew up in the 20s and 30s—to be drawn to feminine women, with perfect lipstick and a perfect face to put it on. The pain, like her heart was being crushed in a metal hand and oozing out between the fingers, was inevitable. She had been deluding herself, thinking that he could like her. Even if she was willing to give up all the decisions she had made in spite of Chris—not to pretend to be more feminine than she was, just to please him—even if she was willing to wear the dress and the makeup and try to style herself to look like that… she would never be what Alicia was. The pressure of the emotions building up inside her threatened to make her sick and she quietly escaped to the kitchen, just to get a minute to breathe.

A minute was all she got.

“There you are, I was hoping we’d get some time to chat!”

The voice was the very last one she wanted to hear. She turned to face Alicia, smiling unconvincingly. “Oh, hi! How are y…”

The smaller woman wrapped her in a hug. “Ugh, I feel like I know you already.” She pulled away a bit and saw the thinly-veiled nausea on Lydia’s face. “Oh my god, are you okay? Too much Champagne?” She was still standing too close for comfort.

Lydia laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, that must be it. I’m... fine, though.” She took a step back and ran into the counter.

“Well, I just wanted to, like… I don’t know, say hi? I’m not going to say that I feel like we should be friends, even though you seem really great and I do kinda feel like that.”

“Oh, you know, actually, I’m not much of a people person. I mean, you seem great, too…”

“I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes, it’s just like, _ leave me alone, _ you know?” She laughed. “But you _ are _a people person for the right people. Bucky’s so lucky to have a friend like you. After all he’s been through?”

Lydia nodded helplessly.

“I’m just… you really look like you’re gonna hurl, are you sure you’re okay?”

Lydia nodded again, giving an awkward thumbs up.

“Okay. Well, I’m just… glad you’re in his corner,” Alicia smiled warmly and Lydia found that she couldn’t even hate her.

“I’m… glad you are, too. But, actually, I have to go. I was hoping to get some more work done on his arm, so…”

“Yeah, he said that was almost done! So exciting!”

“It is, yeah. Um… maybe even this weekend.” Lydia decided, in that moment, that she needed to finish the arm as fast as possible. She would give it to him and he and this gorgeous woman would ride off into the sunset and she would probably never see him again. It was for the best. It didn’t matter what he was mad about, or if he was mad at all. He was probably just being weird because he was thinking about Alicia.

“This weekend? You’re such a BAMF, oh my god! I want to say he undersold you, but actually, he was, like, totally on point. That would be so cool, though: new year, new arm?”

“Yep, that’s… but, tell everyone I said goodbye.” Lydia was actively skirting the counter and backing toward the elevator as she spoke.

“I will. Good luck with your programming, Lyda!” She gave a little wave and turned back toward the room while Lydia retreated.

Lyda? She was sure that Bucky had called her that when he mentioned her and Alicia had thought that was what she went by, but no. Not _Lyda._ Not from her. Lydia got on the elevator and went straight to her lab, crying before she even stepped off. She would finish the arm. She would finish the arm and all of this—and Bucky—would be behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I have been dreading this one, but I promise it's going to work out! To quote a Midsummer Night's Dream, "For aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth." I'm not going to lie, there are some rocky chapters to come, but it's going to be worth it, I hope, in the end. These characters are going to be happy and they're going to find their way there together.
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are appreciated.


	20. Petechiae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all and most importantly: RIP Chadwick Boseman. I am so grateful for all he gave us, especially his portrayal of T'Challa. A great actor and a great character. I was planning to have T'Challa in a couple of chapters coming up, but I might need to cut him out until later in the story. I love him so much and I just don't know if I can write him right now.  
Rest in power, King.  
Wakanda Forever!  
  
So... fuck. You know the drill. If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please tell me)

It was ten hours after she left brunch and Lydia was 3D printing plates for the final arm when Bucky walked into her lab. She didn’t look up from her work and he didn’t know what to say. He felt like he had probably been a real ass in the car the day before and she seemed angry.

“You want some Chinese food?” he ventured.

“Not hungry. What can I do for you, Dje—Bucky?”

She always pulled back on calling him Djesha when she was angry. It made him feel like shit.

“I thought I didn’t need a reason to come here,” he said, leaning on the door frame.

She paused, remembering the night she had told him that. It had been the night Chris kept calling. She shook the memories off, going back to her work.

“No, but I assume you have one… a reason.”

“Yeah, I do… I, uh, apologize if I was a jerk yesterday. Steve and I had a talk the night before and I just... had a lot on my mind.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly, in a tone that only made him worry more.

“Lyda, come on. You’re the last person I want to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Bucky. Actually, I thought I had pissed you off, but if not…” she took a measured breath, “we’re all good.” Her tone was flat throughout and only served to further convince him that she was upset.

“If not me then what? You’re bent up about something.”

She sighed, frustrated. “It’s Chris.”

Something about her tone told him she was just saying that so he’d drop it, but he refused.

“Lyda, are you lying to me right now?”

“What?” She turned to face him and he immediately realized that she wasn’t angry, at him or anyone. She had cried her eyes out sometime since he had seen her that morning.

“Shit. I’m… you want a hug?”

She looked at him skeptically. “I’m fine. I just want to finish the arm.”

“No hurry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, what are you talking about?”

He smiled, sympathetically. “Do you have a mirror?”

“No.”

“Here, come with me.”

“Where?”

“Bathroom.”

She huffed, looking down at her work for a second, then getting up and following him. When they got there, he took her by her shoulders and she gritted her teeth at his touch, as he steered her in front of the mirror, standing behind her.

“What am I looking at?” she asked.

“See the little red spots around your eyes?”

He ran his fingertips above her eyebrows, down over her temples, and across her cheeks, toward her nose, pointing them out. She held her breath until he pulled his hands away, then leaned forward, looking at herself. She wiped at her skin, but the spots didn’t budge.

“What, um… what the hell is that?”

“Petechiae. Little burst blood vessels under the skin. Only 4 things cause ‘em around the eyes, like that.”

“Oh?”

He held up his fingers and she watched his reflection as he counted. “Hanging upside down for too long, violent coughing, equally violent vomiting, and crying so goddamn hard that it seems like there’s no water left in your body.”

She nodded, looking down at the counter. “I did vomit a little.”

He hugged her from behind and she went stiff, like he had the first time she hugged him. He didn’t let go.

“Lyda, what happened?”

Awkwardly, she hugged his forearms around her waist and he eased up.

“A lot of things. I’m just… you know, actually, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut and he let go of her, taking a step back. She didn’t want to talk about it. Either it was about him or she just didn’t trust him enough to confide in him. Or both. Or it was payback for him not talking to her the day before, which would hurt, but it would be fair. If he could have told her, he would have. But she hadn’t pushed him and he wouldn’t push her.

“Okay, so we won’t talk about it. Chinese food?”

“I’m still not hungry, Bucky.”

“Then, can I bum a protein bar?”

“Why don’t you just go eat?”

“Because my friend cried so hard today that it caused internal bleeding.”

“That makes it sound much more dramatic than it was.”

“You threw up.”

“It happens, sometimes.”

“Maybe I just feel like sitting and watching you work on my arm and talking about Harry Potter or whatever.”

She sighed, the morning—and Alicia—flashing through her mind... but there he was, standing behind her, asking her for a protein bar instead of going out with his beautiful girlfriend.

“Fine, I’ll get you батончик {a bar}. Blueberry or peanut butter and banana?”

“Peanut butter. No contest.”

She turned to face him, feeling a familiar pain in her heart and smiling weakly before heading out of the room. “You have good taste,” she called over her shoulder.

“Well, if you develop an appetite, I'll be more than happy to share.” He followed her, first to her office, for protein bars, then back to the lab, where he watched her work for the rest of the evening and, gradually, her mood lifted. When she closed up for the night and they headed to the elevator, she told him that she would probably have the arm finished the next day.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, Lyda. Let it wait.”

“No, no, no, I’m way too close to stop now. Besides, Dr. Cho—Helen—said she’s available to come as soon as Monday for the plate removal, so I’d really like to—”

“Monday? Three days from now, Monday?”

“Or whenever you’re available. I just want to get my part done so—”

“I could have my new arm Monday?”

She nodded.

He beamed at her. “Can I come tomorrow? Watch you finish it?”

“I don’t get a lot of work done when you’re here.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m kind of… excited.”

“This from the man who said his old arm worked fine.”

“Well, that was before I realized I was trading a chest full of steel for a plasma cannon. Come on, you have to let me come. I’ll bring lunch.”

“Everything is about food with you.”

“I just want to make sure your brain has the fuel it needs to do this right.”

“My brain is fine, but okay, bring lunch.”

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Stop it. Should I tell Helen—”

“My Monday's wide open. Let’s do this.”

“Wow, you abandoned that whole _ it can wait _ thing pretty quickly.”

“You’re making me something amazing, let me be excited.”

“Amazing, huh?”

“You know it is.”

* * *

They spent the entirety of the following day together, like nothing had ever been wrong, talking and eating, him lip-syncing dramatically to her playlist while she giggled through her work. At 6:22 PM, the arm was finished.

No more printing, no more etching, no more programming.

Finished.

“This calls for cheesecake.”

“Djesha, no.”

“Oh, come on. Ice cream?”

“You are so endearingly single-minded. We just ate.”

“Fine, but this is pretty exciting and also, I’m still hungry. Can I have another one of the peanut butter things?”

She laughed, digging one out and throwing it to him.

“It feels weird to be done,” she said as he unwrapped it. “What am I going to do without you sitting here all the time, making my lab smell like food?”

“Psh,” he took a bite, “you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easily.”

“Oh, what, you’re going to come sit here with me for no reason?”

“Doc, I already come sit here with you for no reason. It’s not like you needed my help with this.”

“Well, no, but… you really think you’re going to… I just kind of assumed I’d never see you again, I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like you owe me anything. Don’t you have better things to do?” She stumbled through the explanation as nonchalantly as possible, trying to look like she wasn’t crushed by the idea.

He smirked at her, shaking his head. “You’re one of my favorite people, Lyda. I’m on your team ‘til we’re dead; get used to it.”

She had very little control over the almost-tearful smile that spread across her face.

“I…” she stammered, “so, I should buy more of those peanut butter banana bars, is what you’re saying.”

He laughed. “I should probably stop eating them. They taste way too good to be healthy.”

“Healthier than cheesecake.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Katie’s gonna go for that.”

She smiled and they sat in silence for a minute before she said “So… Monday.”

“He knocked on his left pec with his right knuckles and it made a dull, metallic thud. “It’s surreal to think about. You’re gonna be there, right?”

“Only for the installation of the neural circuit. Unless you want me to stay the whole time.”

“Would you?”

“Ha! I knew you were averse to unnecessary medical procedures.”

“This is completely necessary and it’s not the surgery that bothers me, I just don’t like the _ being knocked out _ part.”

“Well, I know you metabolize anesthetic crazy fast, but they’re giving you enough to take down an elephant, so I think you’ll be fine.”

“No, I know, I just always have this…” he swallowed. “In those last coupla’ moments before I go under, I always feel this panic, like how long will it be before I wake up? A day? A week? Twenty-three years? That was the longest Hydra ever kept me on ice, twenty-three years.”

She frowned, sympathetically. “But, that’s not going to happen. You’ve got the best doctors in the world there, making sure everything goes as planned.”

“Yeah, I know… I’d still like you to come.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll be there.”

* * *

She _was_ there, earlier than she normally woke up, as they prepped him for surgery.

They walked Bucky through the procedure.

First the surgical team would remove all of the metal in his body and then he would be moved to the regeneration cradle to regrow the muscle and bone the metal had replaced. Lydia would come in to install the neural circuit in his shoulder, and then the cradle would cover it in tissue. Start to finish, it was expected to take about 18 hours, and she promised she would be there when he woke up.

She sat in the waiting room the whole day, Sam joining her in the afternoon. All of the updates they got were good ones: the anesthesia worked, the plates came out cleanly, the transfer to the cradle went smoothly, the tissue was regrowing properly. When Lydia was called back to do her part, she found herself smiling like a weirdo at the gruesome sight of his open shoulder—muscle and bone and blood vessels where there had previously been metal. She installed her circuit in the glenoid cavity and then returned to the waiting room while Dr. Cho finished up.

When the procedure was complete, Lydia and Sam and Dr. Cho all sat by his bed, waiting for him to wake up. Sam kept Steve updated by text and Dr. Cho, still on Seoul-time, dozed in her chair.

Most of an hour ticked by.

When he woke, he drew a sharp breath through his nose, his eyes opening and sweeping the room before he sat up, looking at them with a blank face.

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at him. “Hey, Bucky, how are you feeling?”

He blinked at her, clearly not quite processing what she said.

She got up and took a step toward him. “Bucky? You okay?”

He looked down at himself, at his one arm, and back up to her.

“Кто такой Баки?” {Who is Bucky?}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Желание  
Ржавый  
Семнадцать  
Рассвет  
Печь  
Девять  
Добросердечный  
Возвращение на родину  
Один  
Грузовой вагон  
  
(oh shit)


	21. Curator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Lydia was pretty sure her heart stopped beating.

“Ты… вы не Баки?” {You… you’re not Bucky?}

The complete confusion on his face answered her question before he said a word.

“Нет. Извините.” {No. I’m sorry.}

She nodded and took a step back. The backs of her knees hit her chair.

“Это не… эт—ээ… как вас зовут?” {It’s not… it—uh… what’s your name?”}

“Я… у меня нет имени… но меня зовут Солдат.” {I… I don’t have a name… but they call me Soldier.}

“Понимаю. Ну… здравствуйте, Солдат.” {I see. Well… hello, Soldier.}

Her voice dropped to address the others, but her eyes never left _ him. _ “Sam, Helen, you need to go.”

“Lyd, you know I’m not leavin’ you in here,” Sam replied.

The Soldier watched them talk, dispassionately.

“Вы мой куратор,” {You are my handler} he said. It was a realization, not a question.

“Ваш… куратор?” {Your… handler?}

“What’s he saying?” Sam asked.

“He said I’m his… handler.”

“So, you can tell him what to do?”

“No! I don’t want to be his handler. Someone else needs t—”

“I don’t think he speaks English.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that? I thought he did last time.”

“He did! I think he did... I didn’t hear it.”

“Lydia,” Dr. Cho cut in, “we need to go.”

Lydia let Sam pull her out of the room. They put the building in lockdown. They evacuated non-essential personnel, which was quite an undertaking, because it was the middle of the night and Lydia was far from the only person who lived there. Security and Medical rushed in, but everyone stopped short of actually going into the room with him. Then Wanda came, and Pepper, and Scott. Sam wouldn’t get off his phone. Steve was getting ready to come from Virginia.

A plan was discussed at length and set into motion. The guards would go in. Lydia didn’t want to translate, so Wanda offered to do it, in her place. He would be moved down to the Hulk holding cell in Sub-level N. They would figure it out from there.

He was docile when they went in to get him, but became visibly agitated when Wanda started giving him orders. He followed them, but tensed up, gritting his teeth, squeezing his one hand into a fist. All he would say was “Где куратор?” {Where is the handler?}

It took some time, but Medical checked him out, assuring everyone that, physically, he was fine, and Security got him moved down to his cell. They reconvened on the other side of several inches of bullet-proof glass.

“Doctor,” Wanda said, addressing Lydia, “are you his handler?”

“He said I was,” she answered, “but I can’t be; I don’t want to order him around. He can’t say no! It goes against everything I believe in!”

“One of us has to. The orders will be the same, no matter who is giving them, but it’s clear to me what he wants.”

“He doesn’t _ want. _ Isn’t that the whole point of all the bullshit they did to him? He just does what he’s told?”

“Lyd, you know something’s different this time,” Sam answered. “He doesn’t speak English. That’s new. And he asked for you, so I would say—”

“He didn’t ask for me, he asked for his handler! Actually, if you can believe it, it’s worse than that. Does the word ‘куратор’ sound familiar to you, Sam? Does it sound like ‘curator’? Because that’s what it means!” She was getting more upset as she spoke. “His curator! Like he’s a piece in a fucking collection! It’s dehumanizing! It’s disgusting! You can’t ask me to be that person, you fucking can’t. It’s bad enough that I…”

She was shaking now, and Sam hugged her. 

“Lyd, I don’t think it’s up to us.”

“I can’t do it.”

He sighed.

“It’s alright,” Wanda piped up. “I’ll keep doing it, for now.”

“In the meantime,” Pepper cut in, “I want this wall to be a one-way mirror. Can we do that? I don’t want him to be able to see us.”

Her assistant, a couple of feet behind her, nodded, pulling out his phone and starting to type.

“It should already be soundproof,” Pepper added, “unless we press… does anyone see a button?”

It took them a few minutes to find it, and Lydia used that time to gently suggest to Pepper that they get him some furniture, if he was going to be stuck in there.

“And some out here for us,” Sam added. “Steve and Alicia are gonna be here any time and I think Clint is comin’ down. There’s gonna be a lot of people just standin’ in this room.”

Lydia turned to glare at Sam while Dr. Cho announced that she had found the intercom. She tested it, but nobody was sure if it worked, because he neither responded to her test, nor said anything. Pepper and her assistant went upstairs to let everyone standing in the street back into the building. Lydia was still glaring daggers at Sam.

“I had to,” he said quietly, though there was no way to prevent everyone hearing, in the very quiet room.

“Fuck you, Sam,” she hissed in reply, walking away from him.

He followed her. “She’s his girlfriend, she needed to know.”

“Please just shut the fuck up. I can’t…” she walked over to the window, watching the Soldier prowl around on the other side. He looked every bit like the caged animal that he was. Lydia’s gaze caught his for a second and she startled and looked away, but she could still feel his eyes on her. Sam came up behind her and she pretended not to see his reflection in the glass.

“It was the right thing to do,” he said.

“I know it was,” she answered bitterly.

“And when she comes, you need to be nice to her.”

“Because she’s the only one who’s allowed to be miserable about this?”

“Because she’s a normal person and this’ll be traumatic for her.”

“It’s traumatic for everyone!” She tried to keep her voice to a harsh whisper, turning to face him and seeing the same pain she was feeling, etched in his face. “Are you not traumatized? I’m fucking traumatized! This whole stupid surgery was my idea! And now he’s…” She bit her lip, tears starting to well in her eyes. He hugged her again. “What the hell are we going to do?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out.”

The next couple of hours went quickly. Some men Lydia had never seen before came in and put a film over the glass that would prevent the Soldier from seeing out, but allow them to see in. Furniture was brought in, first to the room they were standing in, then to the cell, and the Soldier was given a pile of Katie-approved protein bars. He took one, but didn’t make any move to eat it. Dr. Cho slumped into a chair, exhausted or devastated or both, and Lydia followed suit, starting to reread Bucky’s Hydra file, like she didn’t have every word of it memorized. A couple more Avengers trickled into the room, Rhodey and Peter, the latter of whom looked like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be there. Nobody had anything to say. Nobody knew what they were supposed to be doing.

Then Alicia burst out of the elevator, a flurry of sobs and outstretched arms. She was in a notably different state than she had been at Christmas—no makeup, hair not done, wearing a tee shirt and leggings and uggs—but she still managed to be absurdly beautiful, even with her face swollen from crying. She went straight to the glass and stopped just short of running into it, looking at the Soldier, who was now sitting on the corner of a table. He glanced in the direction of the sounds he shouldn’t have been able to hear and Lydia checked to make sure the intercom light wasn’t on.

Alicia turned back to the room, sniffling, and made a B-line for Lydia and Sam.

“Oh my god, you guys! This is so awful! What can I do?”

Lydia opened her mouth but had nothing to say and Alicia bent down, hugging her. Lydia closed her eyes, miserably, and hugged her back. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” she said, quietly.

“I just want to help, you know? Like, remember in Sense and Sensibility, when Colonel Brandon said ‘give me an occupation or I shall run mad?’ It’s like that! I just… I have to be doing something. Please?”

Lydia didn’t know the quote—she had never read Sense and Sensibility—but she understood the sentiment. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Alicia let go of her and stood, flashing her a watery smile, before turning to Sam and hugging him. Sam and Lydia exchanged a look over Alicia’s shoulder, as she pulled away from him.

“Just get some sleep,” Sam said, “I told you there was no point comin’ ‘til morning.”

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to sleep? Come on, I can’t just leave. Are you leaving?” She looked back and forth between the two of them.

“No,” Sam said.

Lydia shook her head.

Alicia looked back to the cell. “Is he…” she walked toward the glass. “Is he okay?”

“There’s no way to know,” Lydia said.

“The Medical team says he’s fine… physically,” Sam added.

“Where’s his other arm?”

“We um…” Lydia sighed. “He woke up from surgery like this. We didn’t get to install it.”

Alicia turned to her with a desperate look in her eyes. “Well, can we install it now?”

“It’s not a good idea,” Wanda answered from a few yards away, walking closer. “The arm makes him too powerful. It would be dangerous.”

“Yeah, but Bucky wouldn’t hurt anybody…” Alicia looked back to Sam and Lydia for confirmation, and was met with somber faces. “Right, guys?”

“I told you,” Sam replied unhappily, “that’s not Bucky.”

“Well, h… how long is this going to last?” She looked back at the Soldier, who was looking vaguely toward Lydia.

“We don’t know,” Lydia answered, “I have read all the data Hydra had on him, but it seems like it’s not predictable. Time from activation to... reprogramming, um…” she sniffed. “It could be anywhere from hours to weeks.”

“Weeks?” A fresh gush of tears ran down her lovely face.

“And it’s weird this time anyway,” Sam added, “so there’s no knowin’.”

“It’s weird? What does that mean?”

“Well, he only seems to speak Russian, for one thing,” Wanda said.

Alicia nodded, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “Okay, what else?”

“What do you mean what else?” Sam asked.

“She said ‘for one thing.’ That implies other things, so… what else?”

Sam and Lydia exchanged a pained look, unwilling to tell her he had been asking for Lydia (well, his handler). Wanda watched their silent exchange and said “I’m sorry, that’s… a translation thing. English isn’t my first language.”

Alicia looked around at all of them, taking a shaky breath. “I feel like you guys are trying to protect me, but please don’t. I’m not a little girl and I really care about him and I just want to help.”

Sam sighed. “Sorry, it’s just a lot. This whole thing’s a lot, for all of us.”

The morning got quiet after that, with people starting to make their way back out, Rhodey taking Dr. Cho with him, offering her his guest room. After an hour, everyone except Sam, Alicia, Wanda, and Lydia had left. Lydia told Wanda that she could go—that if they needed a translator, she'd handle it. It made her sick, but it was her fault, not Wanda’s, and she had to deal with that.

“Я знаю, что это не то, что ты хочешь,” {I know that isn’t what you want} Wanda replied.

Lydia shrugged. “Это не твоя проблема.” {This isn’t your problem.}

“Если бы я ушел, ты бы застряла с ней,” {If I left, you would be stuck with her} Wanda nodded subtly to Alicia and Lydia laughed for the first time in hours.

“Она безобидная.” {She’s harmless.}

“Я знаю. Ты хочешь, чтобы я остался?” {I know. Do you want me to stay?}

Lydia looked at her with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out why she was offering. They didn’t know each other that well and she certainly didn’t owe Lydia any favors. It almost felt like she was flirting and any other time, Lydia would have been up for that, but now?

Alicia leaned over to Sam, whispering “What are they saying?”

He shrugged. “I don’t speak Russian.”

“Ванда…” {Wanda} Lydia finally said, “я думаю, не сегодня.” {not today, I think.}

Wanda laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Лидия, я знаю, что ты его любишь. Я просто подумала… что тебе нужна подруга. Все хорошо.” {Lydia, I know you love him. I just thought… that you needed a friend. It’s all okay.}

Lydia’s eyes went wide. It was quite a thing for someone to say and it felt a little too true and also absurd and what the hell could Lydia do about it?

“Я… я не… Спасибо. Я…” {I… I don’t… Thank you. I…} Lydia stammered a non-response.

“Все хорошо,” {It’s all okay} Wanda said again. “I’ll go. Call me if you need me to come back?”

Lydia nodded, still dumbfounded to have someone just casually tell her that she loved Bucky.

Wanda left.

Once she was on the elevator, Sam plopped down on a couch that didn’t face the cell. “You wanna tell us what all that was about?”

“We were just… debating the whole handler thing. I should do it, though, so… it’s all good.” It wasn’t all good but Lydia knew she should do it. It was her fault and her responsibility, even before he decided that she was his handler.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam said, not believing her.

Alicia sat down beside him, leaning on him, starting to cry again, quietly.

Alicia and Sam had a whispered conversation, him reassuring her, her trying to contain her panic. Lydia listened to them, curling up in an arm-chair that afforded her a view of the cell. She looked at the Soldier and found him sitting on the table again, looking back at her.

“Вы меня видите?” {Can you see me?} she said quietly.

He shook his head.

“Но, вы меня слышите.” {But you can hear me.}

He nodded.

She sighed. “Вы должны поесть.” {You should eat.}

He took a bite of his protein bar and she covered her face with her hands, wishing the floor would rise up and swallow her.

“Lyd, you know we can’t understand your Russian shit,” Sam said.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking out loud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, куратор, which means both handler and curator, is pronounced koor-AH-tor. While we're at it, Lyda is pronounced LEE-da and Djesha is... probably pronounced exactly like you think it is. Oh, and the Sense and Sensibility quote is from the 1995 movie, not the book. I know that, but my characters don't seem to lol.
> 
> I know this Soldier stuff is stressful, but I hope you're enjoying. Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!


	22. A Passive Observer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Sam and Alicia were dozing on the couch a couple hours later when Steve came in. Lydia looked helplessly at him from her chair.

“How is he?” he whispered.

She shrugged.

He walked up to the glass and watched the Soldier on the other side. The Soldier was watching him, too.

“He can hear us, can’t he?”

“Don’t tell Pepper,” she said quietly, yawning. “She wanted it soundproof.”

“It probably is. He’s got incredible hearing. Soundproof for us is just a wall for him.”

“Hydra?”

He nodded. “Has he eaten?”

“A couple protein bars.”

“Have _ you _ eaten?”

“No. None of us have." Lydia shifted uncomfortably. "It’s been… a long night.”

He sighed. “I’ll order bagels.”

“Steve, how can you think about food right now?”

“It’s a natural extension of thinking about him.”

She chuckled, getting up quietly and walking over to stand beside him. He put an arm around her shoulders.

“Sam says you’re his handler.”

“Mh, _ he _ says that. As far as I can tell, it’s just because I was there when he woke up and I speak Russian.”

“He’d be glad it was you.”

“That makes one of us… it makes me fucking sick.”

“Yeah, he said that, too. How’s the girl?” He glanced back at Alicia and Sam, still fast asleep.

“Having a hard time, but aren’t we all?”

Steve took a deep breath through his nose then sighed. “I called T’Challa. Shuri is on her way; she thinks she can help.”

“If anyone can, it’s her. Is Challa coming, too?”

“No. I think he’s busy with his royal duties.”

She nodded, trying not to hold it against him. They stood in silence for a few minutes.

“Have they let you in there?” Steve asked, indicating the cell.

“No. Safety and whatever. But maybe if you talk to Pepper?”

“I will. She won’t like it.”

“She only sees him as a threat. She's been acting like he’s going to kill us all any second.”

“In her defense… he might.”

She sighed, leaning against him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. He’s my best friend.”

She looked at Steve, read the anguish in his expression. “Steve, I’m about to ask you something terrible, but it’s been killing me and I need to know.”

He looked at her for a second, and then back to the cell. “Go ahead.”

“You are… the best person I know. I adore you. I look up to you. You can never let something bad happen without trying to stop it. How…” she chewed her lip, considering her words, "how have you lived with yourself all these years—the second time—knowing he was with Hydra? How did you wake up the morning Kennedy was assassinated, knowing your best friend was forced to pull that trigger, and not fly to Russia and get him? How did you sleep, the day the Starks were killed? I just… I can’t fathom it.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It seemed like what I had to do. We’ve talked about it. He says I did the right thing—that pulling him out would have changed the timeline too much… that’s what I told myself. I told myself that he was okay in the future and that was enough.”

“But all the shit they put him through, Steve. Torture. They made him kill people and you just…”

He nodded, eyes never leaving the Soldier. “I let it happen.”

She pulled away from him, running a hand through her hair and picking at a knot she encountered, shooting him a nasty look. “How can you live with yourself?” she asked again.

“I don’t know... I don’t know. It’s harder some days than others.” He shook his head. They stood there, both watching him—the man that wasn’t Bucky—unwilling to look at each other, until Steve said he should go talk to Pepper and he left. She stayed there, watching the Soldier not-quite-watching her, until Steve returned with Pepper, her assistant, three guards, and a large box of bagels. The commotion startled Sam and Alicia awake and they clambered off the couch.

“Are we going in?” Lydia asked, not turning to face Steve, unable to keep traces of anger out of her voice.

“We are,” he answered, earning a frustrated huff from Pepper, “but we need a plan. Clint and I have been talking about… cognitive recalibration.”

“What does that mean?” Alicia asked, quietly.

Steve sighed. “It means we hit him really hard on the head.”

“Excuse me, what?” Lydia balked, finally turning.

“It’s not ideal…” Steve started to say.

“No, it’s fucking not. He’s not a vending machine, Steve! You can’t just smack him and hope that what you want falls out! And he’s not hurting anyone, you can’t...”

“... but,” Steve continued, “Clint says it’s how Natasha brought him back from Loki’s hypnosis.”

“And it worked on Bucky before,” Sam added, “in Germany.”

Steve nodded, making eye contact with anyone except Lydia, who looked from him to Sam.

“I refuse to believe that you're seriously entertaining this idea.”

Steve didn’t reply. Sam shrugged.

“You can’t… we can’t…” Lydia shook her head. “What if you really hurt him?”

“He’s pretty tough,” Sam said. “He can fight the Hulk, I’m pretty sure he can take one hit.”

“No, fuck you. I'm sorry but I’m his handler and if I have to tell him to defend himself, I will. This is not happening.”

“Lyd,” Steve finally looked at her, “we don’t know how long he’ll stay like this. We have to do something.”

“Oh, him being like this requires action on our part, does it, Steve? We _ have to _ do something? Fascinating.” She was glaring daggers and Steve backed down.

Alicia cleared her throat and they all turned to face her. She smiled uncomfortably. “Maybe I could try?”

“To… knock him out?” Sam asked.

“Yes, obviously, Sam.” She rolled her eyes. “No, silly, to bring him back. I could try talking to him? Or maybe… a kiss?” She shrugged.

The anger that had been brewing in Lydia boiled over. “I’m sorry, are you under the impression that we’re in a fucking Disney movie? You think true love’s kiss can overcome years…” she glanced at Steve “_decades_ of torture and brainwashing? You can’t _ possibly _ be that fucking stupid!”

“Ugh! No, I’m not! I’m actually really smart, but I’m grasping at straws here! So are they! So are you! What, you want to leave him like this?”

Lydia took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it just made her feel like she might cry or throw up. “I’m just… I’m trying to look out for him. Isn’t that what we all want? I’m trying to balance wanting Bucky back with the responsibility of the position I’m in. I can tell him to do anything: to let you,” she looked at Steve, “hit him as hard as you can or to let you,” she looked at Alicia, “kiss him. But here’s the thing, that’s not Bucky. That’s a person and it’s not Bucky and he has rights and he doesn’t have the context to understand what’s going on. He is programmed to say yes to anything I tell him to do, which means he can’t say no, which means he’s incapable of consent, among other things. So, you’re suggesting I _ order _ him to let someone hurt him, or to allow someone he doesn’t know to kiss him. Do you see the problem with that? Do you see the position that puts me in? Puts _ him _ in?”

Glances were exchanged and Steve nodded. “You’re right. It’s not fair. We’ll… we’ll see what Shuri says when she gets here and reevaluate. A few hours won’t change anything. For now, we’ll go in and just… have a chat. See how he’s doing, see what he knows. Lyd, are you okay to translate?”

She nodded, some of her anger ebbing away now that she had explained her stance.

They did talk, but the conversation was short and unproductive.

He felt normal.

He didn’t know anything.

Lydia thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in his eye when he first saw Steve, but when asked, he was adamant that he didn’t know any of them except Lydia—his handler. She gave him her bagel on the way out of the room, asking him, politely, to eat it if he was hungry. He did.

A few more restless hours passed before Shuri showed up, with several pieces of equipment floating in behind her. She hugged Steve and fist-bumped Lydia before turning her attention to the cell.

“I will need brain scans,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Does he need to be asleep or anything?” Steve asked.

“He can be awake, but he will need to stay very still.”

They all re-entered the room, Lydia helping Shuri to hook up the machines and asking him not to move. They stayed silent as she worked.

“I think I see it!” she said, about half an hour later.

“And?” Steve asked.

She winced. “Disabling it while it is active could disrupt some important cognitive pathways. I do not think it is a good idea. When he is himself again, yes, but now…”

“If it’s too dangerous, it’s too dangerous,” Steve answered. “I appreciate you coming all this way to try.”

Shuri put her hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Uxolo mhlobo wam,” she offered an apology in Wakandan. Bucky looked at Lydia to see how he was supposed to respond, but she didn’t say anything, so neither did he. They detached the equipment and left the room.

“We’ll figure something out,” Steve said, once they were on the other side of the glass. It made no one except Sam feel better.

They all milled around for a while longer. Shuri went upstairs with Pepper to get access to T’Challa’s room that he never stayed in. Dr Cho came back down, stayed for an hour, and left again. Alicia went home to shower and change. Through all of it, Steve and Lydia stood at the glass, watching the Soldier, while Lydia sipped at a Red Bull and silently worked on forgiving Steve. She knew all he had been through for Bucky. She knew that he had his reasons.

“I just keep thinking about being trapped in your own body,” she finally said. “I feel like it would be horrifying… and maybe really boring. Just watching yourself sit around all day, but having no control. Do you think he’s bored?”

Steve made a contemplative little sound. “I never thought about it, but… he remembers everything that happens when he’s like this… after a couple of days… which means he’s fully conscious, so yeah, I guess he probably does get bored.”

“But anything we give him to do, he won’t be the one doing it. I mean if we… I don't know, if we play checkers with him. He would still just be watching. The Soldier would be the one playing.”

“You’re right. A passive observer.”

She nodded slowly, thinking.

“I can hear your wheels turning, Lyd. What?”

“Did you two see The Wizard of Oz when it came out? I don’t know what year—”

“1939. Yeah, we did. Everyone saw it. When she stepped out that door and everything was suddenly in color… well, it was a big deal, back then.”

She nodded again, her eyes unfocused. “What if we read him a book? In English, so it’s just for him. The Soldier can just… is it mean to exclude him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I mean, I could choose something in Russian that they could both understand, I just thought that if it was in English, it would be more like interacting with _ him _ and that way, anyone who wanted to could read, and not just me.”

“Alicia did ask for a way to help.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her.”

“Yes, you were.”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah, I was.”

Lydia went upstairs, washing her face, changing her clothes, and grabbing a leatherbound book.

Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

She didn’t know why that was where her mind went, but she rolled with it. When she got back downstairs, Alicia was there and Steve had already filled her in on the plan.

The four of them, Steve and Sam and Lydia and Alicia, went back into the cell and Lydia told the soldier what was about to happen: they would be reading him a book that he wouldn’t understand, but he was just to listen to their voices and try to rest. If he was hungry, he should eat. If he was thirsty, he should drink. If he was tired, he should sleep. If he needed to use the restroom, he should excuse himself. If he needed anything, he should ask. If he had any questions, they would try to answer them.

He said he understood and they started to read, Alicia then Lydia then Steve then Sam. They switched readers every chapter, while the other three dozed or ate, though Lydia barely closed her eyes and only picked at her food.

They passed the whole day like that, and late that evening, as a chapter finished and they were wrapping up for the day, he spoke.

“У меня есть вопрос.” {I have a question.}

Lydia smiled. “О книге?” {About the book?}

“Нет.” {No.}

She nodded, disappointed, having hoped he’d somehow understood it. “Спросите.” {Ask me.}

He looked confused for a moment, but shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut and then looked back at her and seemed to recover. “Я слышал взрывы снаружи. Мы в состоянии войны?” {I hear explosions outside. Are we at war?}

Her heart dropped. She hesitated before repeating “Взрывы?” {Explosions?}

He nodded.

Her mind whirred--explosions? Had something happened? Surely someone would have come down and told them? They were so far underground, could he be mistaken? Several seconds of panic then she realized what day it was and deflated. She looked at her watch.

January 1st, 12:15 AM.

“Фейерверк. Сегодня новый год.” {Fireworks. Today is a new year.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. The nightmare is almost over, I promise. Thank you so much for reading and for caring about Bucky and Lydia. Comments and kudos mean more to me than you know.


	23. Shchi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Shchi is a Russian cabbage soup, generally served with sour cream, and it's comfort food.
> 
> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

In the days that followed, they read him several books: Stephen King and George Orwell and Tamora Pierce and Andy Weir. Everyone brought something different to the table. Alicia even spent a few sleepy hours reading them a draft of her thesis—apparently, she was a couple of months away from getting her PhD in Archival Science, which sounded incredibly boring to Lydia, but Alicia’s enthusiasm for it was unmistakable, if not quite contagious. The more time Lydia spent with the librarian, as the pink faded out of her hair, the harder she found it to dislike her. She was nice. She was brilliant. She tried so hard. Most importantly, she really cared about Bucky.

Days passed into a week, a week into two. Bucky’s stubble became a beard. Alicia was almost out of leave at work, but refused to go. Lydia started to get sick, from stress and lack of sleep and a continuing inability to stomach solid food, but she stayed, as well; she had promised Bucky that she would be there when he woke up from surgery and, in her mind, it hadn’t happened yet. Everyone who spent any time there cried at least once (even Sam, though he denied it). The stress in the cell was overwhelming. More people trickled in, bringing books. Some read, some just listened. Occasionally Lydia and the Soldier would have a conversation in Russian. He had good days and bad days. People helped him with things he needed two hands for. Sometimes he would remember something he shouldn’t know—someone’s name or a word of English or the flavor of the peanut butter banana protein bars that Lydia wasn't supposed to be giving him. Everyone would get excited, but it was gone as quickly as it came and afterwards he would become confused and agitated, even panicked, which was painful to watch. Start-to-finish, the Winter Soldier was in Avenger Tower for sixteen days, and then one day, he interrupted Sam, while he was reading.

“Wait…”

Sam stopped and everyone turned to look at the Soldier… or was it Bucky? They held their breath, waiting. Confusion pulled at the corners of his face as he looked around at all of them, at the cell and the one-way mirror, at his one arm.

“I’m… why am I here? Where…” he looked around at them. “Are we in the tower?”

“Bucky?” Steve tested.

“Steve, what are you d—Lyda? What’s going on?”

“Oh my god!” Alicia was out of her chair and into his arms in a matter of seconds. “Bucky! I was starting to think…” She hugged him, beginning to cry and apologizing for getting his shirt all wet with her tears. He looked back to the group, his chin on Alicia’s shoulder, and realized what had happened. He hugged her, addressing them, “What did I do?”

“Sat here, mostly,” Sam replied, closing the book and checking his watch. “More than two weeks! Glad you have you back, brother.”

He sighed. “Glad to be back.”

It was almost noon. Everyone did their part to fill him in and Steve paged the Medical team. He was checked out and cleared to leave. Shuri immediately set to work, getting the programming out of his head and checking every corner of his brain for anything else she might have missed. Alicia stuck to him like glue.

Lydia stayed until she was sure he was okay, then quietly stepped out, going to her apartment to cry and sleep. The guilt she felt over the whole ordeal had trickled away over the past two weeks, but now it was back in full force. It was her fault. She would never forgive herself. He would never forgive her. She showered and cried and threw up and spent a few hours trying unsuccessfully to sleep before opening a Red Bull and going to her lab.

The prototype was laid out on a glass table, perfect and ready to install. She glared at it for several seconds before throwing a drop cloth over it so she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. Instead, she turned off her phone, doing her best to forget about the whole world outside of her lab, and set to work rewriting Redwing’s programming. It wasn’t necessary, but it was something to do. She couldn’t concentrate, though. She was too angry and sad and guilty and sick to her stomach. The past two weeks felt like a horrible dream, but they had happened, and she couldn’t pull herself away from that truth. After twenty minutes of failing to work, she started to putter around her lab, tidying up, putting things away, checking the email she had been avoiding through the whole ordeal.

Then the elevator dinged.

It was probably Steve saying goodbye or Sam checking on her, but she didn’t want to see them or anyone else. She turned to face the door of her office, then stood very still, feeling like if she was quiet enough, they might just go away. Bucky rounded the corner, collapsing into his usual chair, looking exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin wrinkled a little around his features, showing his age in a way it usually didn’t. His hair and beard were all over the place. She was torn between the pain of seeing him looking unwell, which she wasn’t used to, and the relief of seeing him at all. This was Bucky, not the Soldier, and she knew it and it made her heart swell. Swell and then sink; she was not ready to face him.

“Hi, Doc.”

“Hi, Bucky.”

He smiled weakly at her. “You look like shit.”

She couldn’t bring herself to smile back, but she remembered having this conversation before. “Thanks, you too.” It was true, this time.

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess I prob’ly do.”

She straightened up, sniffing. “What, um… what can I do for you? The arm?”

He shrugged. “The arm can wait. I went over a year without an arm, when I was in Wakanda.”

“I… didn’t know that.”

He shrugged again. “I’m just checkin’ in.”

She felt the tears coming and tried to fight them, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and sitting down across from him. “I’m fine. I’m just… sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I heard you had been blaming yourself for this. It’s not your fault, Lyda.”

“If I hadn’t recommended the surgery, this wouldn’t have happened.” She wiped another tear away. “If I had left well enough alone and just built onto the existing apparatus, then—”

“Doc, please shut up. It’s not your fault and I’m not going to pretend that it is.”

“Well, I’m never going to forgive myself.”

“Nothing to forgive. Listen, Shuri missed some of the programming and we found it in the best possible circumstance, with no enemies around to exploit it, and now it’s gone… and I’m tired… and all I want is to eat Chinese food with my friend, but Steve says you’re not eating.”

“He’s been bringing me protein shakes, but they’re the only thing I can keep down.”

“Well, that’s… bad. Is this how you deal with stress?”

“Not usually. Sometimes. It happened during the blip.”

“And after the Christmas brunch.”

“Well, that was one time, so…”

“You never did tell me what you were so upset about.”

“I still don’t want to talk about it.”

He shook his head. “If I get eggrolls, will you eat one?”

“Bucky, I can’t.”

“Djesha.”

“What?”

“I like it when you call me Djesha. You only call me Bucky when you’re upset and I’m having a rough day and I feel like putting my foot down.”

He was right, of course. She shook her head, sniffing, wiping her eyes again. “Maybe I just don’t feel like a good enough friend to be making up names for you, right now. I don’t know.”

“Would ya cut it out? Please? I don’t have the energy to argue with you, but this is not your fault, Lyda. It’s not.”

She nodded, not feeling any better.

“Hey, I’ve got it” he sat up a little straighter, “if I knew a place willing to deliver shchi, would you eat some?”

She perked up very slightly. “Someone delivers shchi?”

“Only for me.” He smiled and she smiled back. “I mean, it’s not as good as mine,” he added, “but I don’t really feel like shopping right now. What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, you cook?”

“Yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “I’m great at it. And I promise to make it for you some time, but tonight, delivery, what do you say?”

She nodded, laughing quietly. “Fine. No сметана {sour cream}, please.”

“Oh, now I know somethin’s wrong with you. The сметана is the best part!”

She laughed a little louder, shaking her head, and he laughed too.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m telling ‘em to give yours to me.”

“Even better. After all those protein bars, you’re going to need it.”

“Eh, some of ‘em were okay.” He smiled at her.

She knew he meant the peanut butter ones. “You remember that, do you?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to give them to you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She nodded, sighing. “You look so tired, Djesha… shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Well, by my recollection, I haven't been awake in weeks, so I feel like it can wait.”

“So can shchi.”

“No, the shchi is an emergency.”

She smiled. “Your priorities are so messed up.”

He already had out his phone, texting someone, and she waited.

“On its way,” he said.

“So, we wait.”

“My place or yours?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Where should we eat?”

Oh. That made more sense than what she was thinking. “I—” it took her a second to recover, “um, is my office not good enough for you anymore? I thought we might install the arm.”

“I mean, we could.”

“Well, I hate watching you with just one, you look so off-balance.”

“I just don’t feel like running through testing, and I know you’ll want to test it. Tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine.”

“And I don’t want to eat here,” he added. “I want to sit in a comfortable chair and watch a movie or something.”

She nodded, her brain still awash in guilt. “Well, I… are you sure you don’t hate me? Because it sounds like you don’t want the arm I made and you don’t want to be in my lab and all of that could be some kind of subconscious attempt to distance yourse—”

He cut her off. “Lydia, you’re making this so difficult. Will you please come sit on my couch and eat soup with me? Just for an hour and I can pretend everything is normal? I just need an hour of normal, can we do that?” His eyes were imploring in a way she wasn’t used to. Her heart broke and she nodded.

“Alright.” He got up. “Shall we?”

She got up too, following him silently to the elevator and then up and into his apartment. Apartment wasn’t really the word for it, though. He seemed to have a whole floor of the tower to himself. He walked straight to the couch and sat, but she took a minute to look around, reading the spines of the books on his shelf and looking at the christmas gifts, still in boxes, waiting to be put away, and the rotting fruit that had been on his kitchen counter for two weeks. She eventually made her way over and sat by him on the couch.

“So, what are you thinkin’?” he asked. “A movie?”

“Something short. We both need to sleep.”

“So probably not the Dragon Tattoo. Fine, that gives me some time to learn Swedish.”

“We can just watch it with subtitles.”

“We can do both. Um…” he closed his eyes, thinking, and she smiled, watching him. “What about something light?” he asked. “Harry Potter.”

“Djesha, I don’t actually expect you to watch a kids’ movie with me.”

“Why not? Hey, kids didn't have their own movies in the twenties, I think I missed out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Do you not want to watch anything? We could just talk?”

“I… don’t feel like I know what to say, right now.”

They were quiet for a minute, until the shchi arrived, and, unable to settle on what they should watch, they just sat together and chatted about nothing. They ate the soup straight out of the plastic tub, which she held, since he didn’t have an extra hand. They finished the shchi quickly, then talked about the weather and Russia and how long his beard was getting—not long enough to braid, but she tried and then ended up braiding a part of his hair instead. Before they knew it, it was after 11 PM.

“Alright, I’m going to go,” she said, painfully, not wanting to. Sitting on the couch with him felt like being at Steve’s again and it seemed so natural to just stay there, but she forced herself to stand up. “We both need to sleep.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow for the arm. Not too early, I know you’re not a morning person.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I want to. Тогда увидимся?” {See you then?}

She nodded. “Приятных снов, Джеша.” {Sweet dreams, Djesha.}

“Приятных снов, Лида. До завтра.” {Sweet dreams, Lyda. I’ll see you tomorrow.}

He walked her to the door and she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!
> 
> As an aside, I may have to take a brief hiatus in posting--just a couple of weeks, but I have been struggling with some personal stuff and might need a little time off. Fingers crossed that I'm wrong and we'll all be back here next week, same bat time, same bat place.


	24. Spilling Our Guts

It was almost noon when he showed up at the lab the next day and she was sitting at her computer, tapping away sleepily. She turned to face him and he was grateful to see that she looked a little better than she had the day before, with clean hair and some color in her face, but he could tell from the way she moved that she was still exhausted.

“Morning, sunshine.” He leaned on the door frame, drinking from a water bottle.

She laughed and it turned into a yawn. “Morning. Mh, is it still morning?”

“Just barely. Did you eat?”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her computer. “What’re you, my dad?”

He laughed. “No, thank god. What’re you workin’ on?”

“Redwing. He needs an upgrade.”

“Like my arm needed an upgrade?”

“Your arm did need an upgrade.”

“Or, hear me out, you just don’t know how to function if you don’t have a project.”

“Jeez, you’re firing shots this morning.”

“Well, I’m a sniper, so…”

She turned back to him, shaking her head and smiling. “So, the arm.”

“Uh, yeah.” Right. He was there for a reason.

She finished the line she was typing and got up, leading him into the workshop and carefully pulling the drop cloth off the table, so as not to move the plates too much.

“Ta-da.” She held up her hands, pointing to it like she had produced it with a magic trick.

He laughed. “I was actually sitting right here when you finished it, you know.”

“Okay, yeah, but it’s all laid-out and pretty now.”

He grinned. “Oh, very pretty. My apologies.”

“Shut up. So, you remember how to integra—put it on?”

“Lyda, we have done this like thirty times.”

“Right, of course. It’s just been a couple…” she cleared her throat. “Go ahead, then.”

He walked over and stood beside the table with the plates on it, turning to smile at her. “Blinders on.”

She smiled back.

He maintained eye contact while the arm coalesced and her heart fluttered and she found herself laughing, just to diffuse the tension.

“What?” His gaze didn’t waver.

“Just…” she bit her lip to hold in another laugh, “you.”

He laughed, too. “Hey, I know I’m funny lookin’, but you’re not supposed to actually laugh about it.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking handsome, bite me.”

He laughed louder. “Aggressive! But, uh... you think I’m handsome?” He smiled, looking perhaps as handsome as he ever had, and she shook her head at him.

“You know, Steve told me you were neck deep in pussy in the forties, so I kind of don’t believe that you don’t know how hot you are.”

His eyes widened. “Steve told you _what_?”

“He might have phrased it differently.”

“No, I want to believe that my oldest friend, Steven Grant Rogers, used the phrase ‘neck deep in pussy.’ It seems like it could’ve happened.”

She laughed loudly. “Anything is possible.”

He got out his phone. “I’m texting him about this, this is amazing.”

“Don’t you dare. He’ll look at me with his disappointed grandpa eyes and I’ll fucking die.”

They laughed about it for another minute, as he messed with his phone, pretending to debate whether to text Steve, and she tried to take it away from him. He was taller than she was, of course, and once his other arm was complete and functional, she had no chance.

“No fair, using an incredibly advanced cybernetic arm to stop me.”

“Oh, you mean this arm?”

He held it up between them for a moment, looking it over. “Yeah, it’s pretty neat. My friend made it for me.”

She beamed. “Well, your friend sounds like a badass and a genius and I would like very much to meet him one day.”

“Wow, just assuming she’s a man. That’s pretty sexist, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Oh, a lady friend! Sorry, I didn’t know women could do science.” She laughed.

“They’re the best at it,” he answered, casually. “Actually, I think all the smartest scientists I know are women.”

“Well, chill out on telling people that. Dr. Banner is actually tremendously brilliant and, believe it or not, some people don’t consider engineers to be scientists. I get in this argument online all the time. _ Bill Nye isn’t a scientist! _ Fuck you, yes he is… sorry, I know that’s not the point, but it pisses me off.”

He was just smiling at her and she blushed and looked down at his arm.

“Um… seriously, though,” she continued, “move it around. How’s it feel? This is the final thing, so if there are any issues, I want to work them out as quickly as possible.”

“It feels fine. It feels like an arm.”

“And how… I have been debating bringing it up, because of the Winter Soldier thing and…” she fidgeted with her fingers, “and whatever, but... how do your chest and torso feel? No more metal.”

“Yeah, just muscles! It’s weird. Do you know how long it’s been since I was sore on both sides of my back?”

“Seventy-something years?”

He nodded. “I feel like a person again.”

She frowned at him. “Djesha, you were always a person. But why are you sore? You’ve been back for like a day, what have you done?”

“Exercised.” He smiled, cheekily.

“When did you have time to work out? Honestly, I kind of feel like I’ve been with you the whole time… which, by the way, shouldn’t you be hanging out with...”

“She’s at work. Lyda, how much do I sleep every night?”

“Like four or five hours.”

“And how long ago did you leave my apartment?”

“Twelve… maybe thirteen hours?”

“Exercise. Also, grocery shopping, because all my food went bad.”

“Really? For fuck’s sake, shouldn’t you be resting, or—”

“I got new muscles, I have to use ‘em.”

She smiled. “You’re a silly man, you know that?”

“Yeah, well… only around you.”

The phrase, and the accompanying idea that he behaved differently around her, made her heart swell. She smiled. “I’m so glad to have you back, Djesha. You have no idea. I…” she thought for a second and then sighed. “We should… we should start testing, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but first… protein. Shake for you, bar for me?”

She nodded and they ate (and drank) and then spent the next several hours running and re-running all of the tests they had ever performed on the prototypes. The arm performed flawlessly every time. Late that evening, he got her to agree to try some solid food, and he even grudgingly acknowledged that Chinese probably wasn’t the kind to start with. They went to his apartment again and he made scrambled eggs and toast, because it was mild and healthy and he knew from years of taking care of a sick Steve that a person who can’t stomach eggs can’t stomach anything. She picked at hers over the course of an hour, while they watched videos on YouTube, and then he held her hair out of her face when she threw it up.

“Ugh,” she was sitting on the floor, leaning on the toilet seat, “god, it’s in my nose. I blame you.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I deserve it. This is a testament to my cooking.”

She chuckled weakly. “No, it tasted good. I’m sorry. You don’t have to stand in here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure this is more fun to listen to through a wall.”

“Bastard.”

“Guilty.” He laughed. “You done?”

She shrugged, turning to lean back against the bathtub. “I wish I knew.”

“Well, as long as we’re spilling our guts...” he said, sitting on the floor in front of the sink, with his legs crossed.

“That’s the worst segue I have ever heard.”

“I know. I’m not very... I just want to…” he took a deep breath, “Lyda, I know what you did for the last couple weeks wasn’t easy and I’m… I just want to thank you. I’m grateful… for you.”

“Are you trying to stress me out until I puke more, is that what this is?” She smiled weakly. “It was my fault, of course I helped, for whatever my help was worth.”

“It’s worth a lot.”

“You know, if I had let Steve hit you in the head, the whole thing could have ended in less than a day.”

“Well, two things: one, that wouldn’t have worked. Can you imagine how often Hydra would have lost me if I dropped programming every time I got hit in the head?”

“Sam said it worked before.”

“Sam was looking for an answer and there wasn’t one. But, two, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. My memories are coming back, slowly...”

“Steve said it would take a few days.”

“And everything I remember is you. You looking out for me. You slipping me the good protein bars…”

“I really wasn’t supposed to…”

“You trying to protect me. You not letting Pepper know I could hear through the glass. You suggesting everyone read to me so I wouldn’t be bored, of all things. I mean, who thinks of something like that?”

“Djesha, I was just trying to help.”

“You did. I’m sorry you were my handler, I know how much you hated it, but I’m not that sorry… I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.”

She swallowed, nodding, not knowing what to say. She remembered Steve saying “he’d be glad it was you.”

“That’s all. I don’t want to belabor the point, I just… you spend a lot of time looking out for me, and not just during this mess. Hell, even getting the surgery. I know you feel guilty, but nobody else making me a new arm would have even considered getting the metal out first. It wasn’t part of your job and it didn’t benefit you—if anything, it slowed the arm thing down—but you weren’t worried about that, you were worried about what would be the best for me. I just appreciate you. You’re a really good friend.”

She smiled, sitting up a little straighter. “So are you, Djesha. I’m grateful for you every day… and you look out for me, too! You make sure that I eat real food… maybe not today, but… and you took me to Steve’s at Christmas, you didn’t have to do that. Then, of course, you saved my life that one time.”

They both laughed.

“Oh, he probably wouldn’t have killed you.”

“No, probably not. Still...”

They sat there for a minute in silence.

“So, what now?” He asked. “Protein shake?”

She made a face. “Ugh, no. Give me a few hours. I could do something with electrolytes that will get this flavor out of my mouth, though.”

“I have just the thing.”

He helped her up and found her a room-temperature Gatorade and they watched more YouTube videos and talked for a few more hours. Eventually, when the conversation wound down, he got her a protein shake and told her she needed to drink it and then go get some sleep. They stood by the door for ages, not quite managing to say goodbye.

It was Friday, and he promised he would be in her lab to bother her again on Monday.

She told him she looked forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please come back next week, it might be kind of exciting? Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!


	25. Something I Remember Clearly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)
> 
> Also, importantly, the word "brat" means brother in Russian, but it’s pronounced differently.

The next month went quickly, especially once Lydia found her way back to solid food. She also, finally, got her teeth fixed and started the process of getting her tattooed wedding band removed.

Bucky came by more often, except for the four days that he was out on a mission he couldn’t talk about, and she chose not to ask when he found time to spend with Alicia. He didn’t bring her up at all. They ate and talked and sometimes adjourned to his apartment, where they ate some more and watched movies from his list and the extended editions of all 3 Swedish-language Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movies. She marveled at how much Swedish he had learned in the space of a couple of weeks.

She was antsy about not having a project to throw herself into and Bucky didn’t know how to help. He offered to “accidentally” break Sam’s wing suit badly enough that it would require a major overhaul, and he was joking but if she had said yes he would have actually done it. Still, she found enough work to keep herself busy—tinkering with things and upgrading equipment that was working fine—though she was never so busy that she couldn’t make time to sit and talk to him.

* * *

At 7:25 PM on Valentine’s Day, Lydia was in her lab, working. Where else would she be? On her stiff, underused couch eating ice cream and chocolate she bought herself, like a sad cartoon character? No. She wasn’t that woman. Valentine’s Day was for couples and her husband was off being bitter in an apartment somewhere and she had nothing better to do than work. In fact, she loved her work. Her work was her soulmate. Her work was her Valentine.

The elevator dinged.

“Sam, I’m telling you,” she yelled, “the black suit with the red shirt! You’re going to look amazing, don’t stress about it.”

He had been texting her about what he should wear all day, which was ridiculous, because the guy he was going out with seemed crazy about him and Sam would look good in anything.

“So, you think the white shirt is where I went wrong?” Bucky’s voice answered her.

Lydia turned around to see him looking staggeringly handsome in a well-tailored black suit and she whistled at him, jokingly. “No, sir, you look dapper as fuck. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She went back to typing, trying not to think too hard about the evening he might be on his way to.

“Nope,” he flopped into his chair and sighed, “she broke up with me.”

She stopped typing mid-word and turned back to him, her mouth falling slightly open in shock. “She… what? On Valentine’s Day? ... Shit, dude, I’m sorry.”

He shifted in his seat, unwinding his bow tie and pulling it off. “No, she was in the right. She said that she deserves to be with a guy who cares about her as much as she cares about him and… I don’t and she knows it.” He put the bow tie in his pocket and undid the top button of his shirt.

Lydia took a deep breath, nodding, processing. “Still…” she eventually said, “it’s rough timing.”

“I guess. I don’t know. I mean, it hasn’t been the same, anyway… since the whole Soldier thing.”

“I’m sorry, Djesha. I’m surprised; I thought she handled it pretty well.”

“No, she did. She was great, actually. It was me. I just couldn’t… you know, it’s like, I do remember everything but it’s scrambled. How you remember a dream, kinda? Like, I know what happened, but I would be hard pressed to put things in order.”

Lydia nodded.

“But there’s something I do remember clearly.”

“Books, if I had to guess.” She smiled.

He smiled back, looking a little wistful. “I remember Wanda telling you that you loved me...”

The color drained from Lydia’s face and her heart started to pound. She remembered that too, though it hadn’t really clicked until now that he would have been able to hear it. “Oh,” was all she could bring herself to say.

“... which is a hell of a thing to say to somebody, and I was so sure that you were about to set her straight and tell her that she was crazy and it wasn’t like that… but you didn’t.”

She swallowed, with some difficulty. “No, I… um… no.”

He nodded, pulling the bow tie back out and fiddling with it. “And less than a week earlier, Steve told me the exact same thing and I told him that he had it wrong. Backwards. I was the one that was crazy about you. You weren’t interested. I wasn’t your type. You didn’t even want a relationship. You liked Wanda…”

She watched him with wide eyes while he talked, his voice almost being drowned out by her own heart, pounding in her ears. She had no idea what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

“Help me out, here, Lyda,” he said after a few seconds. “What am I supposed to do?”

She shook her head. “I don’t… this is absurd. Djesha, you’re…” She fell silent again.

“I’m what?”

“You’re a superhero.”

He laughed quietly. “Yeah, but so is Sam, so the bar’s pretty low.”

She laughed too, and her laughing made him laugh harder and it just kept escalating until several minutes later, when it finally died down, their cheeks and ribs hurt from laughing so hard.

“Well… fuck.” She finally said.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“I’m… I can’t believe…” another laugh slipped out. “This is absurd,” she repeated.

He nodded. “Tell me what to do,” he said again. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

She shook her head. “I’m not your curator, Djesha, I don’t give you orders.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t… if I ask you out, will you say yes?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still married.”

“People date while they’re getting divorced. I wish I could say I haven’t spent hours researching that, but...”

“Yeah, other people. I don’t… I can’t do that… I don’t really…” she sighed. “Do you need me to explain it?”

“I don’t need…” He considered his words carefully. “I want to know, but if you don’t want to talk about it…”

She bit her lips together, taking a deep breath. “Chris... listed infidelity as his grounds for divorce.” She huffed. “I put irreconcilable differences and he put fucking infidelity.”

“You didn’t cheat on him, did you?”

“No! And I’m contesting it, but it’s this whole thing and it’s making my life a fucking nightmare and it’s dragging out the proceedings. I just feel like… like, we’re still technically married, and if I go out with someone now, it feels like I’m proving him right.”

He shook his head. “Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, well… and, honestly, Djesha, I’m so bad at relationships, it’s just… it’s a really bad idea.”

“What does that mean? Bad at relationships?”

“I mean, I mess things up! Every time, with every person I care about. I messed things up when I was a kid and I messed things up with my family by coming here and I messed things up with Amanda—”

“Who?”

“The girl I dated during the Blip. Chris came back and I didn’t know what to do and she just fucking… well, it wasn’t her fault, that’s the point. It was me. And then Chris. If we went out, I would fuck it up and then you would be on the list of my favorite people on who can’t stand me anymore. I don’t want that.”

“Lyda, that’s not gonna happen.”

“We’re not an exception to some rule, though! Right?”

Bucky considered that, as a couple, they would probably be an exception to several rules, but he let her continue. 

“I mean, everyone who has ever been infatuated has thought ‘oh, I’m going to feel like this forever and nothing can change it,’ but people go from happy together to not talking every day and you’re my favorite person on the planet and I don’t want to lose that.”

He smiled, thinking for a second before saying, “It’s gonna change either way, Lyda. Now that all this is out? Come on, we’re not gonna just pretend nothing’s changed. It has. So, we… give it a try, right? When your divorce is finalized?”

She sighed. “It’s currently set for May 29th, but this infidelity shit keeps dragging it out.”

The time between February 14th and May 29th seemed like eternity to Bucky, but he swallowed that feeling. “Alright. May 29th or whenever it happens. Restaurant? Cheesecake?”

“See, this is what I’m saying, I’m so bad at romance. I don’t want to go out to some fancy dinner, I just want to sit here and look at your beautiful fucking face and eat Chinese food.”

He laughed. “Then we’ll sit here and eat Chinese food.”

“We do that now. This would be a whole… date thing.”

“So, we’ll go out but we’ll go to a Chinese restaurant. Or we’ll eat at my place, or yours, or we’ll walk to a gyro truck. I don’t care what we do, as long as we do it together.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. “This is… if we go out do I have to wear a dress? Because I don’t own a dress.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do if you showed up in a dress. Just be comfortable.”

“I just feel like it has to be fancy. Maybe I’ll wear the slutty suit from Flashdance.” She laughed.

“I haven’t seen Flashdance, but I feel like I don’t object to that.”

“Oh my god. The girl is on a date with this guy and she’s wearing this enormous suit—well, it was the 80s, but it’s a big suit—and then she takes the jacket off and she’s just got this little bib underneath, not, like, a whole shirt…”

  


She brought up a picture on her computer and he choked on nothing, but managed to turn it into a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, you should wear that.”

“It would suit me, right?”

“I’m honestly going to be disappointed if you wear anything else.”

“I just want to say again that this is a terrible idea.”

“I don’t care, Lyda. Do you care?”

“I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“On your team til we die, isn’t that what I said?”

She nodded.

“And you think that’s gonna change because, what, you love your job and don’t wanna go to a restaurant?” He laughed. “I have no excuse not to know that, about you, at this point. I think you’re great, no matter how weird you are. Deal with it.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t believe me.”

She sighed. “No.”

“Well, what choice do you have but to let me prove it to you?”

“None.”

“There we go.”

She shook her head, not knowing how to respond. “Have you eaten yet?”

He shrugged. “There was dinner, but it didn’t get eaten. Why, do you want to be my Valentine?” He smiled charmingly and she melted a little, laughing.

“I was just going to suggest cheesecake.”

“That’s like dinner.”

“The perfect dinner for a bad day, I would argue.”

So, they walked to Juniors. He wore his suit and she threw on her lab coat, which did nothing to keep her warm. They ate their cheesecake as they walked back, talking and laughing, her freezing but refusing to take his jacket, him calling her a brat but stopping short of telling her what to do. When they got back to the Tower, he was disappointed that she hit the button for her floor instead of coming to his apartment.

“I think it’s… probably for the best?” She suggested. “Bad decisions could get made.”

He smiled, knowing she was right but extremely interested in making bad decisions. “Fair enough. Can I at least walk you to your door?”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Old habits.”

They exited the elevator and walked down the hall in silence, and she opened the door before turning to look at him and leaning against the door frame.

“So… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he offered.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“You have plans?”

“No, I just… what did you want to do?”

He shrugged. “Hang out with a pretty girl. I don’t care what we do.”

She beamed at him, blushing. “I think the theater on 72nd is showing Moonlight for Black History Month. Have you seen it?”

“I haven’t. I guess it’s a date.”

“But not a date, because…”

“It’s just an expression.”

“Uh-huh.”

They both laughed.

“Alright, well… have a nice night?” He offered.

“You too. А Джеша?” {And Djesha?}

“Да?” {Yeah?}

She smiled up at him with a freedom she had never allowed herself before. “Я люблю тебя.” {I love you.}

The broad smile that took over his face made her knees weak. He shrugged, but was smiling a little too hard to look casual. “Да, я знаю.” {Yeah, I know.}

She scoffed playfully. “You ass.”

He laughed. “Я тоже тебя люблю, brat.” {I love you too, brat.}

She laughed, too. “Be careful, bringing 'brat' into Russian.”

“Well, I don’t know the Russian word for brat, so…”

“Yeah, it doesn’t translate very well.”

He smiled, wrapping her in an extremely warm hug and reminding her of how cold she still was. She hugged him back, arms inside of his jacket, breathing him in—he was wearing some kind of cologne and as pleasant as it was, she still found herself disappointed that he didn’t just smell like himself. She hated Chris for being the reason she wasn’t inviting him in.

“Goodnight, Lyda,” he whispered into her hair.

“Goodnight, Djesha,” she replied into his chest.

Unhappily, they let go of each other, and she watched him walk down the hall and board the elevator. He flashed her another smile as the doors closed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that just happened!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated. See you next week!


	26. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

It was the first Tuesday in March and Lydia and Bucky were sitting on his couch. The plan had been to eat—they had recently branched out to different cuisines and that night it was pizza—and to watch television, but the TV never got turned on and they just ended up talking.

“Okay, what about that one?” He tapped one of the tattoos on her arm with a metal fingertip and she got goosebumps. Every time he touched her, even in the slightest, it felt like electricity running through her veins.

“It’s, um…” she blinked away the feeling of vibranium against her skin, “it’s in Klingon.”

He tilted his head for a moment, thinking. “I don’t think I’ve… where do they speak it?”

She laughed. “Oh, it’s not a real language. They made it up for Star Trek.”

He nodded. “Okay, well… that’s on the list.”

“I’m always up for a Star Trek marathon.”

“So, what’s it say? The tattoo.”

She grinned. “It says ‘you should learn Klingon.’”

“Does it?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Well?”

“It says ‘Today is a good day to die.’ It’s… a Klingon thing. You’d have to watch the show.”

He shook his head. “With the understanding that I have very little room to talk, I can’t help but notice that all of your tattoos are really fucking dark.”

“Not all of them! Um…” She looked down at herself, trying to remember all of the ones she couldn’t see through her clothes. Okay, so a lot of them were pretty dark. “Oh!” She pointed to the top of her thigh. “I have one on my leg that says ‘Всё гениальное просто.’ {Everything that is genius is simple.} That’s not dark.”

She looked back up at him to see him smiling suggestively at her.

“What?”

“Right there, huh?” His human fingers ghosted over her thigh and she could feel the heat of him through the fabric. The electricity was back. She closed her eyes for a moment and he continued, “I don't believe you. You’ll have to show it to me, one day.”

She opened her eyes, laughing breathily. “I look forward to it.”

His hand lingered near her leg for a few more seconds before he pulled it away. They had been going like this for a couple weeks, living on furtive glances and brief touches and innuendo. It was fun, at first—a playful release for some of the tension that had built up between them—but it quickly became frustrating. Every day one of them almost kissed the other and every day they had to stop themselves. She was starting to debate how important it was to her, to prove Chris wrong.

“So, um,” he continued, trying to pretend he could think about anything but her thighs, “I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you feel about Broadway?”

She perked up. “You mean, like, musicals?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re fun. I don’t go as much as I’d like to, but tickets are pretty expensive, so…” She shrugged. “How about you? You don’t strike me as a musical guy.”

“Well, I guess I can still surprise you. I just happen to love the theater.”

She laughed. “Do you? My apologies. I guess assuming makes an ass out of you and me.”

He laughed, too. “I do. It makes me nostalgic, I think. Plays weren’t so… exclusive, when I was a kid. We used to go all the time.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, the whole herd of us. I had four brothers, ya know. Not counting Steve.”

Her eyes widened. “Four?”

He nodded.

“Have… are any of them still alive? Have you connected with their kids?”

He sighed. “No, two of them died in the war, one of cancer, and…” he looked down at the floor. He made an effort not to think about his family. If they wanted to reach out, they could. His name was certainly in the news enough that they would know where to find him. Though, if his family was in the news for what he was in the news for, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t reach out, either. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think what’s left of my family wants anything to do with me.”

She hated to see him looking so dejected. Sometimes, regardless of how far he had come, she could see the weight of all those years with Hydra still bearing down on him. “Djesha... I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“It’s…” he swallowed, pushing the thought out of his mind, “let’s not talk about that. Theater. Did you see a lot of plays as a kid?”

She sighed. “Fine, but I’m a hundred percent going to bring it up again later.” She took a deep breath. “Um… so, no, we didn’t see plays, like, in a theater, but… well, when I was a little girl, my mom’s English wasn’t amazing but she knew all the words to all the songs in five or six musicals, and we used to get in their bed, all four of us, and watch them on tape, and it just felt like… I don’t know what it felt like. It was just… nice.”

He smiled. “It does sound nice. Well, I don’t, um… it turns out that Avengers get free tickets to Broadway shows.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah! Pretty much whenever we want, I think. Apparently, Steve saved someone important in the Battle of New York and… I don’t know the details, actually.”

“Well, that’s… pretty cool.”

“It is. And… do you remember that book you read to me? About the witches?”

She smiled. “Wicked? Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

He smiled back. “That works out because, I don’t know if you know this, but they made it into a play.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it won like three Tonys.”

For just a moment, his expression became nervous. “Tonys?”

“Yeah, they’re like… the Broadway awards, I don’t know.”

“Named after… Stark?”

“Oh! No, they’ve been around forever. Like, at least fifty years.”

He seemed somewhat comforted by this. “Oh. Anyway, um… have you seen it? Wicked?”

“No, but I have the soundtrack on my phone and if you had been open to listening to music in the car you would have gotten to hear me sing it loudly on the way to Steve’s.”

He grinned at the mental image. “So, we should go, is what you’re saying?”

“I would love to go! Which is lucky, since I’m getting the impression that we already have tickets.”

He laughed, breathing a sigh of relief. “Yeah, Friday. Unless you have plans.”

“Even if I did have a life, and I don’t, I’m having a hard time imagining what plans I wouldn’t cancel to go see Wicked with you.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I don't know why I was so worried.”

“Did you actually think there was a chance of me saying no?” She laughed and he found himself laughing with her.

“I don’t know. Fine. Lyda, we’re going to see Wicked Friday.”

“Ooh, authoritative.” She laughed. “Alright, I’ll be there. And Junior’s, after?”

“Yeah, well, obviously. It’s right there.”

“It sounds like the perfect night, honestly.”

“Almost.” He made eye contact and the goosebumps were back.

She smiled, blushing. “You’re right, almost.”

“But nothing says we can’t do this again, sometime.”

“After everything is…” she smiled. “Yeah, we should.”

“And right now, I’m feeling like… Star Trek?”

“I don’t think you have any idea of what you're getting yourself into.”

“Oh?”

“Dude, there’s like… just the original series, not even including the movies, is like 80 episodes, and then there’s Next Gen and DS9 and…”

“You’re using a lot of words that mean nothing to me, but I’m up for it.”

“What if you hate it?”

“Then we’ll turn it off.”

“It’s really campy. I mean, it started in the 60s, so it wasn’t—”

“Lyda, stop trying to talk me out of it. Do you like it?”

She nodded.

“Then I like it already.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a brat, but here we are.”

So, they watched a few episodes of Star Trek and laughed at things that weren’t intended to be funny and she decided that maybe they should skip straight to Next Generation, in the following days.

When she left, they lingered at the elevator for maybe twenty minutes, saying anything except goodbye. It seemed to get more difficult every day, parting ways. The hugs kept getting longer and sometimes he would kiss her on the cheek, but that was it. It took all of her willpower not to just turn her head and let his lips land on hers, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t and he understood. That night was the hardest yet, though. She could feel her resolve running thin and plans were starting to form in her mind. She let them take shape, but behaved herself. The end was in sight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry about all of this.”

“Star Trek?” He laughed. “It’s not that bad.”

“You know what I mean, Djesha.” Her eyes flashed down to his lips and she swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “Hey, there’s no hurry. I’m not going anywhere.”

She chuckled, weakly. “So, you think we can just go on like this forever, huh?”

“Well…” he smiled, arching an eyebrow, “at least until the end of May.”

She smiled back. “I, um…” she laughed quietly. “I guess. Have a nice night?”

“You too, Lyda. Приятных снов.” {Sweet dreams.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!


	27. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW!  
It includes graphic sexual content and should not be viewed by minors.
> 
> Also, and I know you probably don’t care about this right now, but I had to make a little edit to the timeline. The previous chapter now takes place at the very beginning of March, instead of in the middle.

Lydia dressed up—well, she wore nice pants and what she hoped was a flattering sweater—to see Wicked, and Bucky looked as wonderful as he always did, in a henley and dark jeans. They walked to the theater together and she could feel herself acting weird—giggly, eager—but she didn’t know how to stop it. She tried to breathe. She could tell him her news after the play. At least he didn’t seem to notice.

Then the way he smiled at her, as the lights dimmed, made her heart jump and she spent the first act just trying to pay attention. The play was wonderful, but other thoughts were intruding that made it hard for her to focus. During a romantic song in the second act, she reached over and took his metal hand. He looked down at their hands and up to her. She could feel his gaze. She smiled, sometimes moving her mouth along with the words of the song, but she was adamantly looking at the stage, not at him. He smiled too, lacing his fingers into hers, and looking back to the show. When the play was over and the actors came out to take their bows, she pulled her hand away from his and she could tell how much he wanted to hold on; so did she, but clapping was polite, so he let go and they clapped. She stood in line on the way out of the theater and bought a tee shirt, then they stopped and got cheesecake on the way home.

“Should we eat in the park?” he suggested.

She smiled a little too broadly. “Actually, I feel like we should eat at your place. Is that… does that sound okay?”

He smiled back at her, still riding the high of prolonged physical contact. “If you want.”

So, they walked back. She walked a little faster than normal, smiling like an idiot, and he kept pace with her and remained silent.

When they got to his apartment, she immediately put both pieces of cheesecake in the refrigerator and then turned to him.

He was in the kitchen doorway, watching her. “So… we’re not eating those now, then?”

“Well…” she hadn’t stopped smiling since they left Junior’s, “okay, I’m going to tell you three things and then if you still want to eat the cheesecake, I’ll get it back out. Okay?”

He laughed uncomfortably. “Okay.”

“Don’t—what are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to think of what would be so bad that I wouldn’t want cheesecake.”

“I didn’t say it was bad. Cheesecake can be celebratory or… like, a consolation, so I would… it’s kind of a good news/bad news situation.”

“Lyda, you’re killing me. What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “Okay.” She held up three fingers. “First, I’m changing my name… back to my birth name, because obviously I don’t want Chris’s name anymore. That’s not really important, but I won’t be Lydia Russel anymore, I’ll be Lydia Mostafa, so…”

“Mostafa?”

“Yeah, problem?”

“Not at all. I just always think of you as very Russian.”

“Well… my dad is part-Egyptian, so…”

“Egyptian?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you speak Arabic?”

“Because I… I speak a little Arabic.”

He laughed. “I knew it.”

“Nobody in my family speaks Arabic, so I have no reason to speak Arabic, but I dabbled in college.”

“You’re the biggest nerd I’ve ever met.”

“Do you want to hear the other two things, or are we going to stay on my name?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay.” She folded one finger down. “Two, this is the bad news… so, the divorce has been postponed again. It's supposed to finalize in July, now.”

He whined. “July?”

“Yeah, I’m not happy about it, either. At all.” She folded another finger down. “But that brings me to the third thing.”

“Good news, I hope?”

“I think so.”

“Alright, tell me.”

“After some considerable thought and a bit of soul searching… I talked to my lawyer and… we reached out to Chris’s lawyer, and…” she took a deep breath. “I’m dropping my contestation to the infidelity accusation. I thought about waiting until your birthday to tell you—it’s only a few days, but I’m just really—”

He interrupted her. “Wh—what? Why would you do that?”

“Because, I…” she huffed “you know what, doing this is moving the final hearing of the divorce up to next month—next month versus July—and I really don’t want to be married to that jackass anymore.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, that was important to you.”

“It was, yeah, but I’ve been thinking about that, too—why I care so much. I’m just… I am just really tired of making so many fucking decisions I don’t want to make because of him. He shouldn’t have that much power over me, anymore.”

“He never should have.”

“Exactly! Yes. Also, and I cannot overemphasize how much this affected my decision, especially with your birthday coming up and everything…” she walked up, stopping right in front of him, and took a deep breath. “Now that I’m not fighting it, if I was to take part in any sort of… romantic engagement… I wouldn’t feel like I was purgering myself. You know what I mean?”

He smiled. “Lyda, are you saying…”

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, smiles growing across both of their faces.

Her heart beat faster. This was it—it was the wrong thing to do and she had never regretted anything less.

“Djesha, would it be okay if I kissed y—”

She was still speaking when their lips met, just brushing over each other for a moment, then falling open, their tongues pushing into each other’s mouths. Any thoughts in Lydia’s head—about Chris and the divorce, about cheesecake, about waiting until Bucky’s birthday—were replaced by him and the taste of his mouth and the size of his body and his inescapable heat. He pulled her against him, sucking her lower lip between his teeth, and she gasped, winding her fingers into his hair and feeling him tremble when her nails grazed his scalp. He trailed kisses down her jaw, rubbing his stubble across her throat and nipping lightly at the point where her neck met her shoulder, eliciting a soft moan.

Her knees started to buckle and he picked her up, sitting her on the cold edge of the marble counter and coming up to take her mouth again as she wrapped her legs around his thick torso, squeezing him between her knees. He sighed into her mouth, pressing forward against her and she could _ feel _ him. All the heat in her body seemed to move between her legs as she was overtaken by a sudden flash of desperation to feel more of him—all of him. Her knees relaxed down to his hips, making room for her hands to slide up under his shirt and smooth over the hot skin of his stomach. Her fingertips wandered, exploring him, caressing and scratching and gently digging into his skin when his hand mirrored hers, feeling up her body, over her sweater.

“Fuck.” She pulled her mouth from his, kissing the corner of his lips. “I need to get this off.” She pulled her hands out of his shirt and started tugging at her sweater.

She felt his stubble move against her cheek as his lips curled into a smile. “Are ya gonna be mad if I tear it?”

She shivered. “Oh my god, please do.”

He kissed her again before drawing back far enough to look at her, smiling hungrily and taking hold of her sweater at the neck. He easily tore it open, so what remained hung loosely around her arms. A rush of cold air hit her breasts, giving rise to goose bumps, and his mouth hung slightly open as his eyes devoured the expanse of tattooed skin he had just exposed—words he didn’t know and images he would have to ask her about later.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he whispered, a surprised smile overtaking his face.

“No, I’m not,” she breathed, smiling deviously.

“We should go to my room,” he suggested, leaning forward to nudge her nose with his, ready to kiss her again.

She shrugged and the fabric slid further down her arms. “The floor is closer.”

He cursed quietly, just breathing her air for a moment before dropping down and taking one of her breasts in his mouth. The feel of his blazing, wet tongue on her cold skin made her gasp his name and he supported her as she leaned back against a crock pot. He sucked on her skin, grazing her nipple with his teeth, as his human hand took hold of her other breast and she let out a sort of throaty whimper. Her fingers found their way back to his hair, both wanting to hold him closer and drag him away, as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her. One arm at a time, she let go of him for long enough to shrug off the remains of her sweater and then she took a fistful of his shirt, starting to pull it up and off. He pulled away from her breast for a second, helping her get the fabric over his head, then resumed his attention, but on the other side. Switching sides meant switching hands and the sensation of his metal hand, which never really warmed up, massaging the still wet skin of her breast made her breath hitch in her throat. She clawed weakly at his back, panting, sucking on his shoulder until he moaned against her skin.

“Please, Djesha,” she found herself mumbling.

“Please what, Doc?” He nipped the underside of her breast gently and she whimpered.

“The floor.” It was as much a breath as words, but he heard her.

“Not even the couch?” He teased, dragging his stubble up the valley of her cleavage.

“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Wherever. Right here.”

“Right here?” She could hear his smile. “I cook here.”

She laughed quietly, bending down and kissing his ear. “So?”

He made a noise into her neck that could have been mistaken for a growl. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

She squeaked in surprise as he picked her up, carrying her into the living room and dropping her onto the couch, where she landed with a bounce, giggling, and immediately starting to unbutton her pants. He stood in front of her, following suit, tugging at his belt. She was grateful that they had moved, because from her current vantage point, his bulging fly was at eye level. She scooted toward him.

“Let me get it.” His eyes widened as she took his belt out of his hands, unclasping it but leaving it in the loops. She looked up at him, smiling as she trailed a finger across his lower abdomen before she unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He let out a shuddered breath as she slid them down his legs.

“Lyda, you don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I know,” she purred. She leaned up to kiss his hip, just above the waistband of his underwear, as she carefully slid that down too.

If she hadn’t been positioned properly, it would have hit her in the face when it sprang free of its confines. His dick was exactly as large and as solid as the rest of him, holding itself up in front of her face, and there was a tuft of dark, curly hair at the pubis. She didn’t know how much of this thing would fit in her mouth, but she was looking forward to finding out. She smiled up at him again.

“If I had known, I would have shaved,” he said, breathily.

She laughed quietly and licked her lips, scooting a little closer to him. “Doesn’t bother me.”

She took ahold of his base, and ran her tongue up the length before taking the head into her mouth. It tasted like sex and she wondered if he had masturbated since the last time he showered—if he had thought about her. He hissed a breath in through his teeth, leaning his head back. “Fuck.”

She sucked lightly for a second before letting it come out with a lewd popping sound. She rubbed her lips over the head and laved it with her tongue, then took him back into her mouth, deeper this time, and he gasped, momentarily losing his balance and catching himself with one hand on her head. She made a sound that resonated through him, bobbing experimentally and moving her mouth in conjunction with her hand, then bringing her other hand up to gently cup his balls. His hand on her head tightened, pulling her hair, as his breath came more ragged. She sucked harder, her hand tightening a little.

“Fuck. No, Lyda. I can’t...”

She let go immediately, pulling her mouth off of him. “No?”

His hand, still in her hair, aided by his other hand, reaching down to her rib cage, acted as points of purchase as he fell to his knees in front of her, eyes cloudy with lust. “No. Wonderful, but…” he was panting through his words, “not this time. I won’t last through that right now.”

He pulled her off the couch and onto her knees in front of him, brushing his lips over hers and then letting go of her so he could unzip her pants. The zipper was only halfway down when he slid them over her hips and down to her knees, kicking his own pants the rest of the way off and slipping around behind her, his colder hand running back up to her breasts and the other slowly straying down her stomach and then between her folds. One hot fingertip slid back and forth in the wetness, flicking over her clit and she jumped, collapsing back against him, drawing a shaky breath. As a cold fingertip rubbed over her nipple, another finger joined the first one below, and then another, and he kept her gasping with his thumb running back and forth over the little nub until two of his fingers gently pushed up into her. A jolt ran through her body and she lowered herself down onto her fingers, humping his hand, desperate for friction. He accommodated, curling and pressing his fingers inside of her and holding her up as her head rolled back onto his shoulder and hands scrambled at nothing. She gasped his name and he craned down, sucking on her neck and drawing a loud moan out of her. She was close already and he must have known it, because he stopped what he was doing, kissing her neck gently. She whined at the sudden cessation.

“I know. Just a second.” He let go of her and offered to help her up onto the couch, but she flopped down on the carpet instead, sticking out her tongue. He laughed, dragging her pants the rest of the way off, and calling her a brat under his breath.

She looked up at him, veins stretching over absurd muscles and, of course, one metal arm. His hair was disheveled and his lips were swollen from contact with hers and she had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. He was looking down at her too, eyes intently focused and wandering over her body. It made her a little self-conscious but she tried not to shy away from it. He smiled, lowering himself and she thought he would kiss her again, but he went lower, starting with her breasts, then her stomach and… her back arched off the ground as his mouth found purchase, his tongue bathing her clit as the stubble on his chin scratched the tender skin around it.

“Djesha, fff…”

She couldn’t get words out. His fingers came back, dipping into her while he licked and sucked the bundle of nerves, thrusting with his fingers and curling them, beckoning. She mouthed the word “fuck,” not even able to breathe for a moment, before the building appeared to crash down around her. Her whole body began shaking violently and she screamed—honestly, actually screamed—grabbing a handful of his hair, pulling a little harder than she really meant to, and humping his face, while her other hand clawed at the carpet. She wished she could tell him not to stop, but he seemed to know, continuing his ministrations until she was just a breathless, sweaty puddle on the ground. She was vaguely aware of him crawling up to be at her face level, and as her eyes found focus he was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, which she was pretty sure was the hottest thing in the fucking world. She turned to face him and pulled him toward her, kissing him, tasting herself on his tongue and wrapping herself around him like a vine. His skin scorched her, heating the air around them and making her sweat again everywhere they came in contact. She could feel his hard cock, pinned between them, and ground her wet cunt feebly against it. She heard his breath hitch.

“Do you, uh…” he took a shaky breath. “Do you need a minute?”

“No,” she whispered, voice rough from screaming. She was exhausted but still eager. She wanted more than his fingers inside of her.

“Are, uh… are you on birth control?”

She nodded, smiling devilishly, and he rolled her onto her back again, pinning her to the ground, kissing her, positioning himself between her legs. She reached down and spread herself for him and, slowly, carefully, he pushed into her. The size was overwhelming, filling her completely, in a way she had never been filled. She shuddered, her eyes rolling back, and she murmured something that might have been his name. The stretch was satisfying, though, and he lingered inside of her for a second, breathing shakily in her ear while she adjusted. When she got impatient, her hips bucked up against his, pushing him in a little further, and then relaxed back against the floor. He started moving, slowly, sinking himself into her, pulling out, and pushing in again, choking on a moan. Every little movement of his body seemed to change the world around her and she needed more. She dug her nails into the skin of his back and cooed “harder.”

He immediately picked up the pace, sliding in and out of her, and the faster he went—the harder he plunged in, the deeper he allowed himself to go—the more she responded, moaning loudly, cursing, scratching his back so hard he might have been bleeding. It wasn’t long before he was slamming into her like a piston, panting against her neck. She clawed at his skin and pulled at his hair and grabbed futilely at the carpet until he seized her hands, pinning them to the ground on either side of her head. She groaned.

“Fuck! YES!”

She writhed beneath him, feeling the tension building again inside of her, shaky hips desperately trying to meet his thrusts. He let go of one of her wrists and a metal hand came down between them, finding her clit and—

She was barely aware of the feeling of a plate beginning to vibrate, before the Earth just stopped spinning. There was a moment of stillness, as time seemed to slow, and then everything rushed back and her vision went spotty, her body contorting, overtaken with pleasure. She knew she was yelling, though she couldn’t really hear herself, and she felt him start to pulsate within her. She wanted to kiss him, to tell him he was amazing, but all she could do in that moment was scream incoherently as he came into her, filling her further still. He finally collapsed atop her, spent, and they laid there for several minutes, panting, delirious with pleasure. She eventually got ahold of herself well enough to kiss the side of his head, humming happily. He drew a ragged breath and she felt his cock jerk, still inside her.

“Fuck,” she mewled, her head lolling to the side.

“Mmm.” He kissed her neck, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him, so she was lying on his chest. She straddled him, sitting up to look at him, smiling and wiggling her hips a little. Still in her, she felt him jerk again and she moaned quietly. He pulled her down to him, kissing her gently. “You’d better get off of me if you’re not ready to do that again.”

“Ooh, threatening me with that super soldier stamina?” She laughed sleepily.

“That’s exactly what I’m doin’, yeah.” He combed her hair out of her eyes with his fingers.

“Well, I guess you haven’t heard, but I’m not one to back down in the face of threats.”

He chuckled, pulling her down into a hug and thrusting up into her once, playfully. She groaned, not actually sure she could do it again immediately, wondering how many times he could have sex before he was actually spent.

“You talk a big game,” she said, giggling, “but the average man can ejaculate four times a day, so we’d need to do it four _ more _times for you to fall outside of standard parameters.”

“Four more times, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“How long til midnight?”

She laughed—not knowing or caring—kissing him, feeling his dick twitch again inside her again.

“Alright, fine,” she said, kissing him briefly and arching her back. She slowly pulled herself off of him and immediately regretted it—missing the feeling of him, the fullness. He sighed, nuzzling her nose and staying on the ground as she moved to get up.

“Bathroom?” he asked.

“Yeah, because there’s super serum leaking out of me right now. Then, maybe… cheesecake?” She smiled broadly at him.

He laughed. “You read my mind.”

She took a couple of shaky steps, chuckling and catching herself before making her way slowly to the bathroom.

“You good?” He asked, seeming mildly concerned.

She laughed. “I’m excellent. Just a little shaky, is all.”

“Because of the—”

“Yes, Djesha, because of the sex.”

He already had the cheesecake out when she got back and was sitting on the floor in front of the couch in his full naked glory, eating his with his fingers. She sat beside him, pulling a blanket down over herself and leaning against him, opening hers. They ate in silence for a few minutes before he kissed the side of her head.

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Did you just get cheesecake in my hair?”

“What, like it’s clean?” He laughed. “No, I didn’t. I was just…”

“What?”

“Musing... thinkin’ about how glad I am that I inarguably saved your life that one time.”

They both laughed.

“Yeah, you got a pretty significant return on that investment, now that I think about it.”

“Well, you know. Save enough damsels, it's bound to work out in your favor sooner or later.”

She grinned. “Yes, notorious damsel that I am. Hey, did you know that the English ‘damsel’ and the French ‘mademoiselle’ come from the same word?”

He thought for a second. “Huh. I did not. Where’d you learn that?”

“Sometimes in texts from the Middle Ages, you’ll see them used more or less interchangeably—well, ‘damsel’ and ‘demoiselle,’ but the ‘ma’ just means ‘my,’ so… actually, I’m going to stop myself before I talk your ear off about linguistic evolution.”

He smiled fondly at her. “Why?”

“Because I think it’s probably pretty boring?”

“Is it? I can’t imagine anything I would rather hear right now.”

So, they ate their cheesecake and they talked about how French influenced the development of modern English and then about Wicked and his upcoming birthday and how much they were looking forward to spring. A couple of hours later, her back was starting to hurt because she was in her thirties and sitting on the floor—of course, it didn't affect him—so they crawled into his bed, cuddled up together, and fell quickly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.


	28. I Need A Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

They didn’t leave his apartment at all until Sunday Night, and even then, only because she needed new clothes to wear to work on Monday.

“Get them and come back.”

“Djesha, I need to stay in my apartment sometimes. We’re supposed to be keeping this casual, remember? Your words. Besides, I’ve been brushing my teeth with my finger for the past two days.”

“Mh...” he kissed her, not relenting. “You’re right, bring your toothbrush.”

She giggled, kissing him back. “And my chapstick,” she kissed him again, “and my earplugs.”

“Earplugs?”

“You snore like grinding gravel. It’s amazing, actually.”

“That’s fair.”

“And my phone charger and my la—”

“Alright, I get it, you need to pack a bag.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Do you really want me to come back?”

“Канешна, да.” {Of course, yeah.}

“Хотя завтра мне нужно идти на работу?” {Even though I have to go to work tomorrow?}

“Lyda, I know better than to come between you and your job.”

Something like frustration flashed across her face—only for a second, but he saw it.

“Okay, I’ll—listen, I'm going to shower. Not that I don’t love showering here…”

“It’s a little weird that you smell like my soap.”

“I’m more concerned that we stay in there for an hour and don’t get clean.”

“Worth it.”

“It’s a waste of water.”

“Is it?”

“We can have sex anywhere, so yeah, I’d…”

He raised an eyebrow suggestively and she laughed. 

“Fine, you’re right. I regret nothing. But I’m going to shower and grab my stuff and… I’ll be back?”

He leaned into her, pressing her against the door and kissing her neck. She felt a fresh wave of excitement ripple across her skin. “I’ll be here…” he whispered, “waiting.”

She cooed quietly. “Mmm, on the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t shower yet.”

“Listen, you’re gonna get dirty again sooner or later,” he said, lips curling into a smile against her shoulder.

She laughed, running her fingers into his hair and he shivered, smiling.

“You’re bad at leaving,” he teased.

“Well, you’re really making it unnecessarily hard.”

“Unnecessarily hard?” He laughed. “No, the hardness is necessary.”

“You’re fucking incorrigible.”

“Incorrigible, maybe. Encouragable, definitely.”

Things proceeding as they do, it was over another hour before she made it to her apartment. She showered and grabbed everything she could think of needing, hurrying back to him.

They spent that night together, but decided, in the interest of “keeping it casual,” that she should stay at her own place during the week (except for Tuesday but that was his birthday and it seemed like an excellent excuse to make an exception). Of course, he still came by the lab every night and they ate together. He quickly noticed, though, that she seemed uncharacteristically eager to have a reason to stop working. Eager to talk, to eat, even to leave the lab altogether. It took him until Thursday, while they were standing in his kitchen, eating pizza, to bring it up.

“So, are we gonna talk about you suddenly falling out of love with your job?”

She looked up at him, surprised, and swallowed her food.

“I, uh… my love is just divided at the moment.”

“Hey, flattery will get you anywhere, but I’ve just been feeling like... you’re clearly not enjoying your work this week. Which, for anyone else, sure, but for you it’s weird.”

She huffed. “I’m just bored. I need a project.”

“Still nothing on that front, huh?”

She shook her head, picking at the crust of the pizza she was holding.

“Do I need to bully somebody? You know I’ll break Sam’s suit.”

She laughed. “No, it’s on me. I need to stop waiting for someone to bring me work and just create something original. I’m thinking a lot about new applications of drone-tech.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve always liked drones. I blame Uncle Ivan, he used to ramble about drones all the time.”

“Your uncle… the supervillain?”

“Rude. But yes, did you look him up?”

He shrugged. “A little. It didn’t say anything about drones, though.”

“No, of course not. I’m sure it said that Dyeda was a spy and Ivan was a terrorist. Nobody ever makes room to mention how brilliant they were.”

He smiled, sympathetically. “Can’t relate.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on the way they write about you, I’m going to smack somebody.”

He looked around, emphasizing that they were the only two in the room. “Not right now, I hope.”

She laughed. “No, not right now.”

“So... drones?”

“Maybe. Or a new application of Destroyer-tech. There’s a lot left to explore, there. I don’t know, I’m just… it’s like I have writer’s block, for machines. It has me feeling like maybe I’m not smart enough or creative enough to work here.”

“Lyda, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Shuri is the smartest person you’ve ever met, then, loathe as I am to say it, probably Howard Stark.”

“I said what I said.”

“Yeah, well… you’re biased. Let’s not talk about work anymore, it’s depressing.”

“Alright...” he thought for a second. “Did you hear about Maria and Strange?”

“No. Maria… Hill?”

“Yeah, apparently they have a thing.”

“That’s… I don’t know either of them that well, I don’t know why I’m so surprised.”

“Because she’s extremely no-nonsense and he’s a wizard?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I think that’s it.”

A couple more days passed pleasantly, then that weekend he got pulled to Croatia on a mission that kept him away for 6 days. The whole trip was “blackout conditions.” No technology, no communication. He thought about writing letters to give her when he got back, but it seemed kind of cheesy and old-fashioned, so he stuck with just thinking about her all the time.

He returned home to find her waiting in his apartment, eager to see him. She jumped into his arms, but immediately recoiled when he wrapped them around her, hissing a pained breath through her teeth. He put her down quickly and she slumped forward a little, wrapping her arms gently around herself and cradling her ribs.

“Man, I did not think that through,” she whined. “Hi. Welcome home. I made you a pot roast but I burned it.”

He laughed. “It’s the thought that counts. You alright?”

She sighed. “Got in a fight. I won, it’s all good.”

“Want me to take a look?”

“Already trying to get my shirt off?” She laughed weakly. “No, it’s just bruised. I’m being a baby, is all.”

“Mm-hmm. I do want to take your shirt off, but just to see what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“It’s not the sight I wanted you to come home to.”

“I bet they’re broken.”

“Probably not.”

“Ehhh… I bet they are.”

“I mean… does it matter? You know how they treat broken ribs? Ice packs and pain killers. Same exact thing they do for bruised ribs.”

“Have you been icing them?”

“Fuck you, you’re not my dad.” She stuck out her tongue and he laughed. 

“Of course you haven’t... You fucking brat. Fine, I’ll just hug you like nothing’s wrong and you can…”

“Whoa there, threaten-y boy, let’s…” she sighed. “Fine. Look at them.”

He kissed the side of her head, hugging her shoulders gently. “I missed you.”

She hugged him back, kissing his cheek. “I missed you, too. It turns out, maybe I shouldn’t be left to my own devices.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how you eat.”

“I’m so sorry about the pot roast. I was really trying to be domestic.”

He laughed, “It doesn’t matter.” He kissed her properly before dropping to a knee beside her, pulling her shirt up. “Now, let’s… Jesus! What’d he hit you with?”

“She and it was her purse and I swear she must have had a brick in there.”

“She?”

“You heard me.”

“What was she doin’?”

“Some fucking Karen going after this group of kids. They were just walking by—well, trying to, but she was blocking their path, recording them with her phone, ranting about how skateboards were illegal in that area or whatever…”

“Her name was Karen?”

“No, she was _ a Karen, _ but they weren’t even fucking riding them! They were just carrying them. And then naturally, as soon as I opened my mouth, she said I was harassing her and she was going to call the police.”

“Did she?”

“No. I wish she had… well, no, I guess I don’t—I don’t really trust the NYPD, but…”

“I’m gonna touch right here,” he said, holding his human hand over her ribs, “and it’s gonna hurt. Deep breath.”

She took the breath and he gently pressed her skin.

“Fuck! God _ damn _ it.”

She whimpered as he pulled his hands away.

“Yeah, Doc, that’s gotta be three broken ribs.”

She huffed. “That racist bitch. I hope I cracked her fucking orbital socket.”

“A’right, calm down.” He kissed her discolored skin gently before standing back up. “Have you noticed that you’re more aggressive when you don’t have anything goin’ on at work?”

She sighed, trying to stand up a little straighter, ignoring the question. “What do you want for dinner?”

He shook his head at her change of subject. “Uh... a burger. There’re no decent burgers in Croatia.”

“Burgers it is. Burger Joint?”

“You know it. Can you walk that far or are we ordering?”

“It’s my ribs, not my leg.”

“That’s not a yes.”

“Yes, I can walk that far.”

“If we walk through the park, are you gonna pick a fight with a pigeon?”

She laughed. “You ass. No, probably not. I mean, if it steals one of my fries, I can’t make any promises.”

“You would give a pigeon one of your fries, completely unsolicited, and you know it.”

“Maybe. Especially if it’s one of those injured ones with like, one leg or something? Watching them hop along makes me sad.”

“Yeah, well, you have an established soft spot for amputees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated and always make my day!
> 
> I’m going to try to keep posting—only a few chapters to go and I HATE missing a week—but I’m dealing with some personal stuff that’s making it hard to update (the same stuff I have been going through for a few months) and I also wanted to do Nanowrimo, so there might be a hiatus. Fingers crossed that I’ll see you all next week and I hope you have a happy Halloween!


	29. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

In the weeks that followed, they were neither openly any kind of couple nor trying very hard to hide what was going on, except from the paparazzi. Sam, of course, figured it out immediately and told Steve, who initiated some heartfelt text message exchanges that were more sappy than anybody was really comfortable with.

Lydia’s divorce finalized, at long last, and she and Bucky celebrated with questionable dietary decisions and sex that would prompt her to take the following day off work. Of course, it wasn’t lost on Bucky that she hardly needed a reason to take leave anymore. He didn’t know if it was worth worrying about, but he couldn’t totally help himself; it just wasn’t a Lydia thing to do. Of course, worried or no, he couldn’t quite bring himself to complain about it—the less time she spent at work, the more time she spent with him and on top of him. He knew how much she cared about her job but, selfishly, he was enjoying the extra attention.

Then, while he was between sparring matches on a morning in late April, he received the following text.

“Джеша! У меня есть новости! Где ты?” {Djesha! I have news! Where are you?}

He smiled down at his phone while he typed his reply. “Training. Good news, I hope?”

It probably was. He didn’t think she’d use that many exclamation points for bad news. Her reply came as four separate messages.

“THE BEST NEWS!”  
“I think?”  
“Fuck”  
“Meet me at your place?”

He ducked out of training immediately—the texts unnerved him. It was good news… she thought?

She was already in his apartment when he showed up. He was sweaty and smelly and really not in the frame of mind for a serious discussion. He found her sitting on his couch, looking nervous, with a large black smudge by her left temple and a matching one on the left shoulder of her tee shirt and he smiled in spite of himself.

She looked up at him. “What?”

“You have grease or something on your face.”

“What? Where?”

He pointed to the spot on himself and she touched her face experimentally, cursing under her breath and pulling the hem of her shirt up to wipe it off.

“Did I get it?”

_ Not really._  
“Eh, more or less. So, what’s up?”

“God damn it.” She wiped at her face again, this time with her left hand, sighing and standing up. She gestured to the couch. “You want to sit?”

_ It must be serious. _  
“Nah, I’m gross.”

She grinned at him, remembering times he had been at least as gross on that couch.

“Alright. Um…” she walked toward him, stopping a couple of feet away and leaning sideways against the wall. She took a deep breath. “So, you know how I’ve been looking for a project? At work?”

He smiled, partially from nerves and partially because she was adorable and still had grease on her face. “No, I hadn’t noticed.”

She laughed uncomfortably, but didn’t resume talking.

“I take it you’ve found one?” he prompted.

“Well, I’ve been offered one. Not a build, more of a research opportunity. Which isn’t less exciting, don’t... I mean, my work on the Destroyer was all just research, but the stuff I learned… well, you know.” She gestured to his arm.

He nodded. “A’right, well… does it seem interesting?”

“Yes?” Her expression shifted from nervous to miserable. “It’s actually really, really fucking cool,” she whined.

“Your tone is confusing me, ‘cause this seems like good news.”

“Don’t hate me.”

“Lyda, I’m never gonna hate you, come on. What's up?”

“It’s 90 days… in Wakanda.”

His heart dropped. “Oh,” was all he could say.

“You’re going to hate me if I go, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No, I know how much you—”

“I always do this. I put my job before relationships and it fucks everything up. I already said yes. I wasn’t even thinking, I was just so excited!”

“You _ should _ say yes. If this is what you—”

“Shuri said you can come to Wakanda but not on the research trip and—of course, I don’t even know if you would want to, but…”

“You know I would come if you asked me to.”

“... but if you tell me I shouldn’t go, I won’t. I really don’t want to push you away, Djesha, I just—”

“Lyda.” He put his hands on her shoulders and she swallowed hard. “Lydia, breathe.”

He took a deep breath and she followed suit, some of the tension dropping from her shoulders.

“You alright?” he asked.

She nodded, not looking very alright.

“Okay. I’m not interested in telling you what to do. At all.”

“I know, but I just feel like, obviously I should have—”

“Stop it.”

She laughed weakly. “You’re telling me what to do.”

“Well, I’m kind of a hypocrite.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. “So, you said the project’s cool, right?”

She nodded. "It is and you're not a hypocrite and I think you're great."

He smiled. “And I get the impression that you’re pretty excited about it?”

She looked down, nodding again.

His hands slid off her shoulders and ran down her arms. “Then it sounds like you should go.”

She looked back up at him, and the hope in her eyes was unmistakable. “You think?”

“If it’s what you want, yeah!”

“Are you going to break up with me?”

The question caught him off guard. They had never actually talked about being a couple. They said they were “casual,” but had not really gone over what it meant. He wanted something more, but he could never tell where her mind was on the whole thing. She still seemed pretty anti-relationship and he could understand if she needed time. She had just gotten divorced, after all. As for the two of them… were they friends but with a lot more sex? Were they dating? The word “love” kept popping up, but… well, they just hadn’t discussed it.

So, were they a single unit that could be broken up?

“No, I don’t… I don’t want that,” he answered, as honestly as he could without turning the conversation into something else.

She sighed, leaning heavier against the wall and avoiding his gaze. “I knew I was going to do this sooner or later. Bucky, I’m sorry.”

“Bucky?”

“Джеша. Мой…” {Djesha. My…} she huffed. “I’m a terrible gir—whatever we are. I’m so selfish and I…”

“You’re not. Doc, it’s three months. You know how fast three months goes?” He knew it would seem like a year, but he also knew that in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. 

“It’s eternity! Do you realize that we didn’t even know each other 6 months ago? We had met once.”

He thought about it, smiling vaguely. She was right. It had taken her less than two months to make his arm. All those late nights, the Chinese food, her filing for divorce, Christmas at Steve’s, the Soldier incident… it had barely been any time at all, really, which was surreal, because it seemed like she had been in his life forever. In all that time, though, if he had learned one thing about her, it was that she loved her job. She had never made any pretense about it and it made the solution to all of this seem pretty obvious.

“It’s important to you,” he said, finally.

“Yes. But _ you’re _ important to me. I don’t… I'm not good at this. I don’t know how to balance things. I _ told _ you I wasn’t good at relationships.”

“That was why we were keeping it casual, wasn’t it?”

She closed her eyes for a second, looking tired. “And somehow, I’m still fucking it up.”

“Lyda, you’re not fucking it up. Besides, you’ll resent the shit out of me if I’m the reason you don’t go.”

“I will not resent you.”

He raised his eyebrows in a way that very plainly said “I bet you will,” and she huffed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I hate that I’m like this, but I really want to go.”

He already knew it was true. He took a deep breath. There was only one thing left to say.

“Alright. When do you leave?”

“June 2nd. It’s… a Tuesday.”

“So, we have another month,” he said, like he was planning how to spend those days.

“If you want. I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you if you…” she trailed off, picking at her nails.

“If I what?”

“If you wanted to… I don’t know, pursue someone else.”

“Lyda.”

“Somebody who will make you a priority, because you deserve that and I’m clearly not capable of…”

“You’ve made me a priority so many damn times, come on. We’ve talked about this. You’re the one person who I can count on to always be on my side, even more than Steve, and you know it.”

“I’m still mad at him about the whole time travel—”

“Don't be. He was allowed to have a life.”

“Not at the expense of yours.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but if he had pulled me out of Siberia all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here now, so… trade-offs.”

She laughed. “All the torture and murdering was worth it, so you could stand here with me and argue about my fucked up priorities?”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

She nodded.

He smiled at her. “You’re gonna call me, right? From Wakanda?”

“Literally as often as you'll answer the phone. I mean, I don’t know what signal is like in the jungle, but if I have to climb a fucking tree, I’ll…”

“The jungle?”

“Yeah, we’ll be… god, I didn't even tell you about the actual… we’re going on a research expedition into the Techno-Organic Jungle. It’s kind of a big deal; nothing like this has ever been done before.”

His brain spun, trying to remember anything about the Techno-Organic Jungle. He had heard it mentioned when he was in Wakanda, but never asked any questions. He knew that Lydia and T’Challa had spoken about it when he had come to town, but Bucky had been too busy being a jealous idiot to pay attention.

“Is it dangerous?” That seemed like a solid place to start. It was a jungle, after all.

“A little? I mean, it’s a jungle. But we should be safe; we’ll have a detachment of Dora with us for security.”

That was reassuring. The Dora Milaje were very good at… well, they were good at almost everything. As he processed this, he watched her, watching him.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asked quietly.

He smiled as reassuringly as he could. “Yeah, of course. I’m on your team, remember? How would I live with myself if I was holding you back?”

A wide smile spread across her face and his heart beat a little faster.

“I’m so fucking grateful for you,” she said, “you have no idea.” She stepped forward, hugging him and burying her grease-stained face in his chest, even though his shirt was still drenched with sweat.

He laughed. “Lyda, come on, I’m so gross right now.”

“Mh, we’re both gross,” she mumbled into the wet fabric and he beamed, hugging her back.

He didn’t go back to training and she didn’t go back to work. They shared a long and amorous (if relatively ineffective) shower and she spent the rest of the day telling him all about the history of the Techno-Organic Virus and T’Challa’s work that had led to the creation of the Techno-Organic Jungle and all of the possible implications for the future of cybernetics.

She was right.

It was a big deal.

This research could change the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.


	30. The Techno-Organic Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I know you’re all familiar with most of the elements of this story but the Techno-Organic Jungle isn’t in the MCU, so here is a brief and very important introduction:
> 
> The Techno-Organic Virus is a virus in Marvel Comics that can infect organic tissue—plant or animal—and transform it into techno-organic material, which is organic in form but machine in nature. Some forms of this virus are extremely painful and a host organism that has been fully consumed by the Techno-Organic Virus will generally die. There is no cure, but the virus can sometimes be held in check. Techno-Organic lifeforms can interface directly with machinery.
> 
> In the comics, T’Challa used vibranium to create a benevolent version of the virus, which allowed for harmony between the technical and organic and was generally less harmful to the host organisms. He used this version of the virus to make a whole jungle of Techno-Organic flora and fauna in Wakanda, aptly called the Techno-Organic Jungle.

It took them 40 minutes to say goodbye, the day she left for Wakanda. He gave her his dog tags to wear on the trip, which made her cry. She promised to video-call him every night, around sunset, which was at about 6:30 PM Wakanda time, about 12:30 PM in New York.

The first night, she called from a comfortable room, in the palace in Birnin Zana, and the next morning, they set out. The party, all hand-picked by Shuri, was comprised of 10 women: 6 scientists and 4 Dora.

* * *

June 4th

“Molo!” The video that came through was spotty, continually freezing and then jumping back to life, but the audio was perfect. Lydia was smiling up at him from his phone, sitting in front of a piece of green canvas. 

“Is that the White Wolf?” He heard Okoye say from out of frame. “Hello, White Wolf!”

“Hi, Lyda! Hi, Okoye! You guys get set up alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything is good. I can’t… can you see me?”

“You’re a little broken up. I can hear you fine, though.”

“Fuck. Alright… well, um… yeah, we’re still a couple of hours from the research station, so we’re camping for the night, but… I mean, we’re surrounded by the things we’re here to study, so I can’t complain. This place is astonishing, Djesha, I wish you could see it.”

“You’re camping? Like… in tents?” She got a couple of frames of him looking incredulous and she laughed.

“Yeah, I know, I’m not exactly out-doorsy and it’s hot as hell, here—like, I may actually be in hell—but it’s just one night. Though, honestly, I don’t know how much better it’s going to be at the station. Nobody’s been there in years, so…” she shrugged, smiling broadly, “it’s an adventure, I guess.”

He smiled back. “Sounds like it.”

“So, how have you been?” She asked through a yawn. “How’s everything at the Tower?”

He laughed. “Since yesterday? No change.”

She sighed. “I miss you already.”

“I miss you, too. The Tower does seem quiet, without you.”

“Oh, come on, there are like 500 people in there at any given time.”

“Alright, you’re not wrong, but… other people stress me out.”

She smiled affectionately. “I appreciate the implication that I don't stress you out… but, uh, I seem to recall that you once told me that I needed a hobby? Maybe I’m not the only one.”

“What is this, A Christmas Carol?” He laughed. “Don’t use my words against me.”

“Hey, be bored, I can’t judge, but don’t just sit there in silence, that’s depressing. I don’t know, binge watch Star Trek or something.”

“Without you?”

“I mean, you can. It’s not like I haven’t already seen it all.”

He didn’t even consider it. “Nah. I’ll read, probably. I’ve got this little e-reader machine that lets you download and read books…”

“Ah, well, that sounds like it would probably come in handy, now that you’re actively avoiding the library.”

He laughed. “Yeah, tell me about it. Thank you, by the way. So, you get to the station tomorrow?”

“Barring some catastrophe, yeah. And I know I’m probably not communicating it very well, because I’m exhausted, but I’m actually very fucking excited. This place is so cool. I have never seen anything like it.”

“Oh, I can tell how excited you are. You should probably get some rest, though, right? More jungle trekking tomorrow?”

“I mean, yeah, I should, but talking to you is the highlight of my day.”

He smiled. “She said, from inside the jungle she hasn’t shut up about since April.”

She laughed. “My statement stands. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir. Same Cap time, same Cap channel.” She soluted and they both laughed. “Bye, Djesha.”

“Bye, Lyda.”

* * *

June 5th

“Lyda?”

“Добрый вечер, Джеша! Как дела?” {Good evening, Djesha! How are you?} She seemed less excited than the day before. More tired.

“Всё хорошо. {Everything is good.} How’s it going? Looks like you found the research station?”

She turned to glance at the wall behind her and chuckled. “That or my tent got a pretty amazing upgrade.”

“So? Are you sciencing your heart out?”

She smiled at him. “I knew I would get you using nouns as verbs sooner or later. Um, yeah, sciencing underway. The equipment here… well, you can tell that it hasn’t been touched in years, some of it’s in pretty rough shape, but luckily I’m not the only engineer out here. Onzewi and I have been taking things apart, cleaning everything, and putting them back together, so… slowly but surely, we’ll have this place up and running.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“Yeah, well… I wish Shuri was here, but Onzewi is brilliant, so… Oh!” Her whole demeanor brightened. “Did I tell you about the leaves?”

“You did not.”

“They’re so cool! Um…” she got out her phone and started swiping through something. “So, you know how the leaves on some plants, like, move throughout the day, to stay pointed at the sun?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t, but he was pretty sure flowers did that and how different could it be?

“So, we found some plants that have developed these little motors to move their leaves! It’s fucking amazing. I’ll send you a picture if I can…” She huffed at her phone. “But, of course, I’ve taken like 500 pictures, already, so finding it is a little…”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t know what I was lookin’ at, anyway. Sounds interesting, though.”

She huffed again, putting her phone down and looking back to the camera. “I’ll find it later and send it. Or maybe I’ll just take a new one. We took a sample. All of these fantastic little—well, some of them are pretty huge—machines just coexisting… can you imagine if we could reverse-engineer some of this stuff? I mean, there is no Earth-based technology that couldn’t be improved by some of the adaptations we’re seeing in this jungle.”

He smiled. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Oh, stop it… and thank you. So are you.” She smiled back. “How have you been? Any news?”

“Not much. Some whispers about a mission in a few weeks, but nothing concrete.”

“And you’re going to be careful, if it turns out to be a thing, right?”

He grinned. “Nah, I thought I might just run in shirtless and see how many bullets I can take.”

She laughed, swiping at the camera and it took him a few seconds to get video back. “I know you’re joking, but I still feel compelled to say _ please don’t do that. _”

“Lyda, not that I make the plans anyway, but I’m a sniper. Whatever happens, if anything even happens, I won't be anywhere near it.”

“On one hand, you’re right and I’m glad because it means you’ll be safe, but on the other hand, you’re so much more than a sniper and they really underutilize you.”

“Pfft, you’re tellin’ me. I’ve got a plasma cannon.”

She laughed. “Though, to be fair, I guess there are worse problems than never having to use it.”

“You’re not wrong. Well, we’ll see. It’s just a rumor, right now; I’ll tell you if I get anything solid.”

She smiled, just adoring him. She wanted to talk to him all night, but she had nothing else to say, except “I’m not sure the others here like me,” which she didn’t want to talk about, especially while they could hear her. She could bring it up later.

She didn’t blame them, if they were wary. She was the first non-Wakandan most of them had ever worked with and they all knew she was only invited because she was a friend of the royal family. It was an endorsement, but a weak one. She could only hope that as she fixed more equipment, they would come to accept her as useful.

“So…” she forced herself to smile, “talk to you tomorrow?”

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

“And I’ll send you the picture. Even if you don’t know what you’re looking at… it’s just really fucking cool.”

He laughed. “I’ll look forward to that, too. Goodnight, Lyda. Sweet dreams.”

“Good afternoon, Djesha. I hope the rest of your day is wonderful.”

“How bad can it be? I got to talk to you.”

* * *

July 4th

“Hi, Lyda!”

“Hi, Lyd!” Steve echoed.

Bucky was in Virginia, visiting the Rogers and helping Steve tear up the carpeting in the guest room. He would head back to New York in a few days, in time to leave for that mission, which had turned into a week-long trip to a rural town in France. He couldn’t give her any details and she didn’t press him.

The two of them smiled back at her from her screen, sitting together on Steve’s couch.

“Hello, gentlemen! Happy birthday, Yankee Doodle!”

Steve chuckled. “Thank you. How’s everything in Wakanda? Is Shuri doing alright?”

“Well, she’s back in the city, I haven’t seen her since the day we left, but she seemed well, then. Challa’s doing the whole King thing very impressively. Have you seen his throne room?”

They both nodded.

“It’s somethin’ else,” Bucky answered.

“But how are you two?” Lydia continued. “How’s Peggy?”

“We’re good,” Steve answered for both of them. “It’s a beautiful day. We’re working in here, Peggy’s out in the garden… life is good.”

“How was today?” Bucky cut in. “Did you take those leaves apart?”

“We did! Actually, I’m glad you’re both here. We’ve had a kind of breakthrough! I think we cracked the way the Techno-Organic cells photosynthesize. I’m trying not to get too excited, because we don’t have the equipment we need to try to recreate it out here, but Rehema swooped in with that botany knowledge and we think we’ve isolated the bits with photosensitive functionality. Can you imagine the implications? I mean, solar panels would certainly never be the same. Oh! And a fully metallic butterfly landed on my hand earlier and I felt like an absolute monster trapping it, but as far as we can tell, it should be too heavy to fly, so… there’s something to learn, there. I turned it over to M’Yereh and she’s going to do her biology thing and then she’s asked me to help with the aerodynamics.”

“I told you they’d warm up to you,” Bucky replied.

“Yeah, well… I’m trying to make myself as useful as possible,” she said, with a nervous laugh.

“Steve?” came a distant voice from somewhere behind the men.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Steve said, moving to get up. “Stay safe, Lyd. Bucky’s gonna be insufferable if you die.”

She and Bucky both laughed.

“It’s true,” Bucky confirmed.

“Well, I try not to make promises I can’t keep,” she said, “but I’m cautiously optimistic that we’ll be fine. Tell Peggy I said hi!”

“I will.”

Steve smiled at her before standing and walking off-screen.

She sighed, contentedly. “I love that man.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him.”

“Well, yeah, how can anyone stay mad at Steve? Especially on the fourth of July.”

Bucky smiled warmly at her. “I love you.”

“I love you too. You’re going to call me an extra time before you leave for that mission, right?”

“If you want, but I don’t know if it’s worth interrupting your work. I’ll be able to talk to you while we’re gone. We're just going to France, we’ll have signal.”

“Yeah, but who knows what’ll pop up when you get there.”

“Since when do you worry this much about missions?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably just because I’m not there. Just call me, alright?”

“Extra call, forthcoming.”

“Thank you. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here. I’ll see if I can get Peggy on the line.”

She laughed. “Good luck nailing her down. Have a good day, Djesha.”

“Night, Lyda. Seep well.”

* * *

August 16th

“Добрый день,” {Good afternoon} he answered the call cheerfully.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Her voice was flat.

“All good. You alright?”

“Yeah. Tired. What’s up?”

“Sam got a dog, so we’ve all been spoiling her all morning.”

She perked up slightly, at this. “Aww, what kind?”

“A Dachshund.” He laughed. “You’d think something big, something he can take on runs, but no. She’s cute as hell, but her legs are too small for her body. He named her Martha. What the hell kind of name for a dog is Martha?”

She laughed quietly. “Oh my god. You’re going to send me a picture, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Are you sure you’re alright? You sound… something.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s just been a long day. Folami is sick. She keeps saying she’s fine—Dora are so proud—but it’s getting too bad to hide. We’re talking about calling the trip and heading back.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, you know it’s bad if Folami’s cracking, that woman's tough as nails. Tell her I said hello, would ya? And I hope she feels better?”

“Well, the second part would mean confronting her about being sick, but I’ll tell her you said hi. She and Okoye ask about you all the time.”

He shook his head. “It’s been too long since I’ve been there.”

“Hey, if you visit, I’ll have an excuse to come back, so…”

They were quiet for a minute.

“Well, I’m sorry your trip might get cut short.”

“Honestly, don’t be. I mean… I don't know, I think 90 days might have been too long. It’s wearing on all of us. We’re doing some amazing work, but…”

He smiled, sadly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Like crazy. When I get back, I’m never leaving your apartment again.”

He laughed. “Just assuming you’ll be invited, huh?”

“Invited or not. If you don’t want me there, you’ll have to pick me up and carry me out.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot of work, so I guess I’ll let you stay.”

She laughed. “I’m not that heavy.”

“No, you’re not. But keep me updated, alright? On Folami and when you’ll be back?”

“I will. I love you, Djesha.”

“I love you, too. Talk tomorrow?”

“You know it. Have a nice day.”

“Goodnight, Lyda.”

* * *

On August 19th, which was a Wednesday, they called the trip, deciding to head back towards Birnin Zana the next morning. On the 20th, she didn’t call. Bucky was surprised—she had only missed one other day on the whole trip—but not concerned. They would be camping that night and they had a sick warrior to care for; Lydia had other things to worry about. The next day, around the right time, a video call came through. It was from Wakanda, but it was Shuri’s number, not Lydia’s.

“Hello?”

“Bucky? They have not returned.” Her voice betrayed the panic that she was able to control on her face.

“What?”

“They should have been here by midday, but… the sun is setting. None of them are answering calls and I can’t get a satellite lock on their kimoyo beads. I just wanted you to know. T'Challa is taking out a search party.”

Bucky nodded grimly. “I’m on my way.”

“There is no need, my friend. My brother will find them. I just wanted…”

“Shuri,” he interrupted, deadly serious. He took a measured breath. “I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!


	31. Let Me Say It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

Bucky grabbed Sam and they left immediately, taking the Quinjet and getting to Wakanda in a few hours. The flight over was quiet, with Bucky thinking and Sam unwilling to interrupt. Bucky didn’t really know what his plan was—to run into the jungle and single-handedly find and save ten people? Well, Sam might be helpful with the finding, since he could fly.

His plan, or lack thereof, turned out to be moot; when they landed in Wakanda, at almost 11 PM local time, the group was already being airlifted out.

Questions like “is everyone alright?” were met with silence.

There was nothing to do but wait. They were escorted to a very fancy sort of parlor and left alone.

Less than an hour later, from a wing and five floors away, Bucky could hear the heli-thing landing. A chill ran across his skin. He could also hear screaming. He was having trouble isolating the voices but there were at least two or three and for no reason at all, he was sure one of them was Lydia.

Bucky knew too much about screams, about what elicited them and what different kinds sounded like, and these were screams of pain. Terrible pain. People being skinned alive screamed like that.

The sound created within him an icy calm—it was like the Soldier was hovering at the back of his mind, waiting to take over. The Soldier had heard these screams a hundred times and they meant nothing to him. Bucky remembered every time, but he hadn’t really been there.

He turned to look at Sam, who was agitated, but clearly couldn’t hear anything. He was reading on his phone and fidgeting with the case.

“They’re here.”

Sam sat up a little straighter, looking at Bucky and then around the room, straining to hear.

“What, you hear somethin’?”

Bucky nodded, still listening. “They’re being unloaded.”

“Are they okay?”

Bucky looked at Sam for a second, wondering how he would handle the truth. “I can’t tell.”

He heard the screaming move into and through the building, down halls and into rooms. Three people—there were three women screaming. Then, one-by-one, it stopped.

They were being sedated.

_ Good. _

Then, there was nothing—nothing discernable or worth listening to for a long while. More waiting. Without the screaming to call up some conditioned response in his brain, his anxiety started to creep back.

_ One of them was Lydia. _

He had no reason to think that, but he knew it was true.

When a nervous-looking scientist poked his head in the door several hours later, they both perked up. Bucky had met him once, briefly, but didn’t know his name.

“Mister Barnes? Mister Wilson?”

It was immediately clear that he didn’t speak much English.

“Yeah?” Bucky was already out of his chair, ready to follow him.

“Eh…” he looked down at his tablet, “Shuri says that your friend is living and is in…” he scrolled down, scanning the screen with his eyes, “kree-oh-jen-iks. Kree-oh-jen-iks?” He looked up to them for confirmation.

“Cryogenics,” Bucky answered, flatly. He couldn’t think about it, in that moment; he hated cryogenics. “Do you know why? Can we see her? Why isn’t Shuri telling us this herself?”

The man’s eyes went wide and Bucky knew he couldn’t understand.

“Phi Shuri?” Bucky tried again. His Wakandan wasn’t good, but he hoped he would understand. He seemed to, looking back down at his tablet and scrolling some more.

“Eh… restricted. Lab is restricted.”

Bucky turned and looked at Sam, who sighed, standing up. Bucky turned back to the man, inclining his head in thanks. He also thanked him out loud, but he couldn't tell if he understood. At the very least, he understood well enough to leave.

“We’re not goin’?” Sam asked.

“Oh, we are. Might regret it. I’m just waiting for him to get a few halls away.”

“Didn’t know you spoke Wakandan.”

“Well… I lived here for a while.”

“Yeah, but you don’t talk to people.”

Bucky took a deep breath, listening to the scientist’s footsteps receding into the background noise of the building. “Alright, let’s go.”

He stepped out the door, looking both ways before turning left and starting down a maze of halls and ramps.

“Do you know where we’re goin’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I know my way around most of the city.”

Sam huffed, not believing him, but following him anyway. They had walked for almost twenty minutes when they ran into a solid wall of Dora Milaje. One of them Bucky knew, which was about all he could have asked for at that point.

“Ladies.”

“White Wolf,” Khethiwe smiled. “We cannot allow you past, my friend. I am sorry.”

“What if I said we had an appointment?” He smiled as charmingly as he could, under the circumstances, and she smiled back, sympathetically.

“I understand, but my sisters are in there and we cannot pass, either. There is sickness, there. What do they call it? Quarantine. It must be contained at all costs.”

He felt a sharp dropping sensation in his stomach. Something had happened in the jungle. Lydia was in cryo-stasis. The lab was in quarantine. Knowing where they had last been, he could only think of one possible answer to link everything together.

“They got the virus,” he said quietly.

Khethiwe’s face grew dark, but she remained silent.

“And now Shuri’s been exposed,” he added, looking to her for confirmation.

She nodded, solemnly. “The Princess and the King, both. Yes.”

“You know you need to explain this to me,” Sam said quietly.

Bucky nodded without turning to face him and continued addressing the Dora.

“How many people?”

“Four infected, seventeen exposed.”

Bucky nodded again, thinking. “Alright, well… we’re not goin’ anywhere, so… as soon as there’s any news, alright?”

She pulled a kimoyo bead off her bracelet and handed it to him. “You have my word.”

He explained the situation to Sam on the way to a closer parlor that he wasn’t totally sure non-royalty was allowed into, but he also wasn’t willing to be half a building away if an update came.

In the hours that followed, Sam slept but Bucky couldn’t turn it off. This was a catastrophe-situation and he was handling it the only way he knew how: remain calm, but stay vigilant. Come morning, after being chased out of the room they definitely were not allowed in, they walked to a kitchen and got food, then spent some more time in the hallway talking to the Dora.

No word from the lab.

When they got close enough, Bucky could hear a lot of activity down there, but couldn’t tell what was actually happening.

It was late afternoon when Bucky got a jolt from the kimoyo bead he hadn’t let go of. Fuck. He had never quite gotten the hold of using these things. He poked at it and some lines on it turned blue. Nope. He twisted it around the middle and a hologram of Shuri popped out.

“Bucky.” She smiled, sounding relieved. “Khethiwe told me to reach you here.”

“You’re alright?”

“Uninfected. Everyone who did not get it in the jungle is coming up clear. We are still enforcing a period of observation, to be safe, but—”

He was happy for her, he really was, but other thoughts were pushing that out of his mind. “Shuri, I need to—is she gonna die?”

She took a measured breath. “I believe I can stop the spread. I know I can stop the spread, I just have to figure out how.”

“She said there’s no cure.”

“She is correct. For now, at least. The damage that has been done, I cannot fix, but… I can prevent further damage. It has not gotten to her brain, that is good.”

He nodded, trusting her, but unable to control the dread nesting in his gut.

* * *

Lydia woke with a start, looking around the room she was in, her eyes landing on Bucky and Sam, who were sitting on the other side of a glass partition. Bucky was holding his e-reader but half asleep and Sam was slumped in his chair, snoring quietly. She watched them for a minute, not really wanting to wake them. She didn’t look down at herself. She had some idea of what she would see and she wasn’t ready to know how bad it was. She took a sip of water from a cup on a table beside her bed and cleared her throat. They both startled awake, looking up at her. Bucky snapped his e-reader shut. She smiled weakly. He smiled back.

“Hi.” Her own voice sounded foreign to her, as sometimes happens when one doesn’t speak for a while.

“Hey,” he replied, quietly. “How ya feelin’?”

She whined, hurting everywhere, shifting to face him better. “I think I’ve been worse.”

He laughed quietly. “Not sure about that, Doc.”

Sam looked back and forth between the two of them. “Uh… I feel like I should go get Shuri.” They were too busy looking at each other to even acknowledge him and he chuckled at them, getting up and leaving the room.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked.

“No. Well, yeah, it is bad, but Shuri stopped the spread, so it’s not nearly as bad as it ought to be.”

She took a breath, processing.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Yes. Not like it did yesterday.”

“Last week. You’ve been out for a while.”

She nodded, not really surprised, and sighed, finally looking down at her left arm. Her hand and arm were metal—organic in appearance, but all square rods and bundles of wires and circuitry—until right above her elbow, where she could see it going under her skin but, hey, at least there was skin. “How deep does it go?” she asked, not sure she wanted the answer.

“It had just gotten to your heart when Shuri put you under.”

“Well… shit. The others—is Folami okay?”

“The other two are okay. Folami…” he took a deep breath, “it got into her brain.”

Her eyes welled up and she nodded, sniffing. “Fuck. She was… Challa is going to be so upset.”

“Everyone’s pretty upset.”

“Yeah, but this was… is she still alive?”

He nodded. “They’re keeping her in cryo. I think Shuri thinks she can come up with a cure.”

The tears spilled down her face. “Shuri is…” she trailed off and brought her hands up to wipe her tears, but instead just looked at them side-by-side. “Прости, Джеша.” {I’m sorry, Djesha.} She couldn’t look at him, only at her hands, and she started to cry harder. Her still-human hand sought out his dog tags around her neck, squeezing them.

He smiled sadly at her. “Don’t… Lyda, I don't… this whole thing has been…” He huffed, struggling with his words. He looked to her, looking for something on her face, but she only sniffed. “Lyda, these past couple of months, being apart, and… I thought you were gonna die last week. And now your arm? Shit. I mean, we can’t… we can’t keep doing this, right?” he said.

She nodded, tears coming a little faster. “Okay,” she said quietly.

“I mean, is it okay? I know that you…”

“Bucky, I don… I mean, it hurts.”

“What?”

“It feels like… yeah, it’s kind of hard, that you, of all people, don’t want to be with someone with a metal arm, but your own arm bothers you, so I guess it kind of makes sense tha—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop talking.”

She did.

He took a shaky breath, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not breaking up with you, you brat, you’re the fucking love of my life.”

She didn’t respond, only started to cry harder, grabbing his dog tags again and holding them against her heart.

“I… respect the casual thing,” he continued. “You just got divorced and you love your job and whatever, I get it, but I’m so tired of pretending to be less invested in this than I am. I wanna marry you and I wanna have fifty kids and I wanna name all of ‘em Steve, even the girls.”

She laughed. “I love a good gender-neutral name. Djesha…”

“Just… let me say it. You…” he sighed. “This past year… when I’m with you, it’s the first time since the war that the future wasn’t… you make me feel like there are still things to look forward to. Do you know how long it’s been since I woke up in the morning and there was somewhere I wanted to go? And it’s every day, now. Well… when you’re home. Lyda… you make me want to be part of the world again. I just…” he sighed. “I just love you a lot. I don’t know.”

She took a couple of deep breaths, waiting to make sure he was finished.

“I love you too, Djesha.”

“Yeah, but I don’t…”

“Hey,” she laughed, “I let you say it, so now you have to let me say it.”

He stopped, nodding, smiling weakly at her.

“I love you,” she repeated. “Also a lot. I had…” she took a deep breath and sighed. “Is it cheesy to say I had an epiphany? In the jungle. Because I was really pretty sure I was going to die and I was in so much pain and I had that... realization? Like, this is it. The things I’m seeing are going to be the last things I ever see. I kept looking at your fucking...” she sniffed, looking down at the dog tags in her hand, “... because they were the only part of you I had with me. I just couldn’t… I was so upset that I was losing the chance to spend my life with you. It was the only thing I could think about. I wasn’t thinking about the research I would never get to publish or the machines I would never get to build. I just wanted to trade everything else that I ever wasted my time on for another day to sit with you in the park and eat cheesecake. I mean… I don’t know if I can have fifty kids…”

He laughed. “The kids don’t matter.”

She smiled, fresh tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I just love you. I’d follow you anywhere and if you asked me to marry you, in spite of my reservations about the institution of marriage, I would say yes.”

He smiled back, sniffing, his eyes starting to shine a little. “I mean, I don’t have a ring or anything. I feel like I didn’t really think this through.”

She held her metal hand up between them, against the glass, laughing. “I don’t think I can wear rings anymore.”

He laughed too, taking a deep breath and deflating with relief. “You’re an engineer, we’ll figure something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click to the next chapter for the epilogue.


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you see {these} symbols, they are a translation of the Russian text proceeding them. If you see Russian without a translation, it means that part will be translated as part of the text.  
(If you speak Russian and see any errors, please hit me up! I am still learning)

“Papa, Katya stole ma chaussure!”

“Steph,” Bucky swooped in, picking up his eldest daughter and ruffling her hair, “you gotta stop speakin’ French, Papa can’t understand you.”

“Ow! That hand is pinchy!”

He pulled the metal hand away from her hair, setting her down and smoothing it over with his other hand. “Sorry, honey.” He turned to smile at his wife as she waddled down the stairs. “You know, in another month or so, your belly’s gonna be too big for your Christmas sweaters and they’re gonna get stretched out.”

“In another month or so, it will be January and it won’t matter. I swear I’m bigger this time. Was I this big with Katya?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

She laughed, finally getting to the ground and leaning back against the banister as she caught her breath. “This has to be the last one. Three is enough, yeah?”

“I dunno, if we hold one in each hand, that leaves a hand free.” He smiled mischievously.

She laughed. “That hand is for the cat. Eddie is coming to feed him while we’re gone, right?”

He laughed too, leaning forward to kiss her.

“Yes. And, fine, three is enough. Steph says Katya has her... sho-sur?” He shrugged.

She shook her head, smiling. “Ekaterina,” she called up the stairs, “did you take your sister’s shoe?”

“Это моя обувь!” {It’s my shoe!} a small voice called back.

Lydia turned to Bucky. “They don’t even wear the same size, how can…”

“Mama!” A hand pulled at the hem of her sweater. “Mama, did you see my bandaid? It’s got Uncle Sam on it!”

“Stefa, baby, you need to put shoes on. We have to go. What about your boots?”

“Они маленькие, но…” {They’re small, but…}

“Маленькие? {Small?} We just got them!”

“They pinch my toes. But my bandaid…”

“Je le vois, chou-chou.”

“Lyda,” Bucky interrupted, “you have to stop speakin’ French to them.”

“Maybe the three of us want to be able to talk to Steve behind your back.” She grinned. “If we ever get out the door. Will you go get Katya and Steph’s shoe?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled back at her before heading up the stairs.

“And the 3D printer,” she called after him.

“Babe, we don’t have room in the car,” he called back. “You can go a week without your 3D printer, it’s Christmas!”

She sighed. “Fine. You took the prototype out, though, right?”

He came back down, carrying their youngest, who was more than old enough to navigate the stairs by herself, and a shoe, which he handed to Lydia, from one metal hand to another. “Yeah, the prototype’s out there.”

“I’m sorry, I know I pack too much.”

He laughed. “Uh… yeah, you do. Oh, your brother called, I didn’t answer.”

She laughed. “Come on, you’re the one he calls to talk to.”

“Your family only likes me because I killed the Starks and I actually really liked Howard and that’s awkward.”

“Papa killed the Starks!” Katya parroted.

“Shhh,” Lydia tutted, kissing her daughter on the cheek. “You’re not old enough to understand the nuance in that yet, little one.” She turned her attention to Bucky. “Awkward or not, I appreciate you making my family talk to me again.”

She handed the shoe to Stephanie.

“Hey, you got my family talking to me too, it seemed fair. Alright, is everyone ready to go?” Bucky looked around at them.

“Did you pack the картина {picture} I drew for Steve?” Stephanie asked, pulling her shoe on and getting up.

“Uh…” He looked to Lydia.

“Yes, and we were very careful not to bend it.”

“Then, I’m ready!” she announced.

Bucky looked to the girl in his arms. “Ready?”

“Oui.”

He sighed, turning to Lydia. “Ready?”

“I am. Roadtrip! Oh man, I’m gonna need so many bathroom breaks, this fucking child is pushing on my bladder already.” Her phone started to ring. “Oh! It’s Doctor Stevens.” She answered the phone, opening the door, and Stephanie ran out. “Hello?”

“Roadtrip?” parroted Katya.

“That’s right,” Bucky answered gently, carrying her toward the car.

They all loaded in, slightly too much noise and commotion for Bucky to hear the doctor through the phone, as Lydia said “Wait, really?”

“What?” he mouthed over Ekaterina’s head.

She waved her hand dismissively as she climbed into the front seat. Once the other two were situated in the back, he got in and turned to Lydia.

Stephanie was singing a song from Annie loudly right behind him and he shushed her, but it didn’t make much difference.

“Alright, well, that’s…” Lydia was nodding, looking at nothing. “No, that’s great. Alright. Alright, yeah, I’ll let you know when we’re back in town. Yes, I’ll stay off my feet. Okay. Bye.”

She looked at him, biting her lip in a weak attempt to suppress a smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “The baby?”

She laughed. “We’re going to need all four hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after.
> 
> That’s it, folks! I hope you enjoyed my story and thank you so much for reading this far! As always, comments and kudos mean the world to me.
> 
> This story is dedicated to my amazing husband, who so many tender moments were based on, my delightful beta reader who loves me too much to give me negative feedback, and all of my repeat commenters—please believe that I would not have finished this story without your weekly encouragement.
> 
> (Oh, and shout out to Duolingo! I only started learning Russian because I love Bucky so much, and Duolingo has made it so easy and gotten me really far.)


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